


the most dangerous thing (is to love)

by deadbrave



Category: The Pacific (TV)
Genre: American Civil War, Battle of Antietam, Battle of Gettysburg (mentioned), Free State of Jones (mentioned), Jewish Eddie, John Brown's Raid on Harpers Ferry (mentioned), Loss of Faith, M/M, Minor Character Death, Period-Typical Racism, Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:08:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28100679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadbrave/pseuds/deadbrave
Summary: “Edward...no one would find fault in ya if ya were forced to fight. No one, not me, not the kids, not even God.” Reba bridged the distance between them with a carefully outstretched hand, wrapping warm fingers around her son’s thin wrist. Edward blinked back tears, dropping his gaze to the scuffed edge of the table.“I might not be found at fault, but I would despise myself. I’m not scared of dyin’, Ma, but I ain’t dyin’ for something that I don’t believe in.”
Relationships: Andrew A. "Ack-Ack" Haldane/Edward "Hillbilly" Jones
Comments: 16
Kudos: 12





	1. Pride

**Author's Note:**

> I'm predictable, here's a playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4X6ExipkXhCws8zszEWlA8?si=WaAxFbr_T-y8ILrtW05_Xg

MARCH 1863 - SUTTON, (WEST) VIRGINIA 

“Should I consider this a threat, Sir?” Edward opted earlier to stand behind his chair instead of sit, unwilling to be seen on equal footing with someone so reprehensible as the man who sat before him, donned in an immaculate, damn near freshly starched Confederate uniform. This was not new to Edward, not in the slightest. They’d been barging into the Jones family farm for a couple of weeks now, babbling on and on about the Conscription Act and how Edward had to enlist since he was over 20 and he could not afford an exemption fee, nor had any substitute draftee to offer. However, since his father had passed, Edward had become the man of the house, and he knew that if he left, his siblings and mother would suffer. If he never returned, they’d financially be unable to recover. Joining the Confederacy would be irresponsible for numerous reasons, most of all that he wanted no part in a rich and bigoted man’s war. 

“Not a threat, Mister Jones. _A warning_. If we have to drag you kickin’ and screamin’ from this farm, we will.” Lieutenant Robert Mackenzie was not a frightening man, at least not to Edward, but the cool and steel temper of his gaze had him questioning the other man’s intentions. It was clear that he wasn’t bluffing. “You have until Friday. Say your goodbyes and prepare--it’s time for you to pay your dues to your country.” 

“This ain’t _my_ country. I ain’t never pledged loyalty to the Confederacy.” Edward crossed his arms, jaw set as he stared down the Lieutenant. The almost demonic look he received in return made his blood run cold. 

“You will.” Wordlessly, Mackenzie plucked up his hat, which had been placed on the table, and slid it atop his crown, grin malicious as he turned to leave the house. Edward let his guard down, shoulders dropping, hefty sigh blowing past his lips as he looked anywhere but Mackenzie’s retreating form. That had been a mistake. The Lieutenant turned to him once more, soulless eyes locked onto Edward’s. “You can’t run from this, Jones. We’ll find you, and we’ll do what we have to to make sure you pay.” Then, he was gone. Edward’s head fell to his hands, teeth grinding against one another as he fought back the urge to cry, to scream, to express anything aside from the apathetic, calculated mask he’d been wearing since his father’s funeral.

Coast clear, Edward’s mother reentered the home, wiping her hands in the fabric of her apron, brow arched as she looked to her eldest son to explain what was going on, since, as a woman, she was asked to give room. “He’s tryin’ to make me join up, Ma, what else would he be comin’ ‘round here for?” Edward maintained his effortlessly collected expression, though he was still guarded, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. 

“Like I know any better than ya, Eddie. Ya heard from the neighbors that they’ve been stealin’ stuff, more than the taxes. Mrs. Reynolds was tellin’ me the other day that they’d just busted through her front door and took everything. Not ten percent as directed, not even half, they took _everything_ that she had. Said it was for the soldiers, but she ain’t blind, she saw them laughin’ as they rode away with her bread in their mouths. What they doin’ ain’t right, I’d just thought that maybe they were pullin’ that again.” Reba sat in the chair that had formerly been occupied by the enemy and Edward joined her, resting his temple against his knuckles. “I know ya think you’d been failin’ us if you left, Eddie, but I’d rather you leave than to find you swinging from a tree and called a traitor.” 

“That’s not the point, Ma. Yes, I’d feel somethin’ awful abandoning ya and the kids to fend by yerselves, especially since…” _No_ . No, he would not think about his father right now. Edward compartmentalized those feelings, shoving them as deep down as necessary so that he could ignore them. “Y’all’s survival aside, joining them would be unforgivable. Ya know what they’re like, Ma. They say that this war was for the state, for the good of us all, but all they’ve been doin’ since pitting the country against itself is pillagin’ us instead of the damn rich plantation owners that bought their way out and spillin’ the blood of our kin. This war ain’t for us, Ma, it’s for _them_. They don’t care if you live or die, they’ll just keep takin’ and takin’ until there’s nothing left but the swamps and their cotton fields.” 

“Edward...no one would find fault in ya if ya were forced to fight. No one, not me, not the kids, not even God.” Reba bridged the distance between them with a carefully outstretched hand, wrapping warm fingers around her son’s thin wrist. Edward blinked back tears, dropping his gaze to the scuffed edge of the table. 

“I might not be found at fault, but I would despise myself. I’m not scared of dyin’, Ma, but I ain’t dyin’ for something that I don’t believe in.” There were many things that Edward conceded when it came to his own opinions and wants, most of which involved allowing his family to do with him as they wanted, but one thing he would, nay, could never stray from was his strict morals. They may be skewed from what other people held themselves to, but they were his alone. Edward would not fight and die for something so undeserving and selfish as keeping people, _human fuckin’ beings_ , as slaves. 

Reba sighed, visibly distressed at her son’s reply, though the truth of the matter was that she’d known all along that that was the response that he would give. There was a reason Edward hadn’t joined up as it was, and she saw no reason to try and persuade him further. Though there may be consequences, as the Lieutenant was here for a reason, a very viable threat, there was no single thing in the world that would change her stubborn son’s mind. “I wouldn’t expect you to, Eddie. That just ain’t you. We shan’t speak more about it. I will do everythin’ in my power to protect ya, though I hope it won’t come to that.” 

“It won’t,” Edward replied, unequivocal in his reassurance. It was then, gaze locked with his mother, her warm eyes exuding all the love and care in the world that he quite simply did not deserve, that a realization came to him. There was nothing that Edward cared about more than his family and the little home that his parents had spent decades building, the life that resided within these walls of handbuilt wood. He would not put them at risk for his creed, his code, his bit of self-righteousness that would never budge. 

The sound of laughter freed Edward from his thoughts, and his head perked up in the direction of the doorway as a gaggle of children, his siblings, burst through, vegetables from the garden collected into Hazel’s and Clara’s skirts, Harold and George’s arms full of firewood, newly chopped. Reba released the hold on Edward’s wrist and broadened the space between them, quickly standing to help her daughters unload the vegetables onto the table. Edward hastily wiped away the few tears that had fallen from his eyes, forcing a smile onto his face as Hazel bounded into his embrace. “Well, hi there Lil’ lady. Did ya have fun pullin’ up the veg fer our stew tonight?” 

“Yes! I got dirt all over my face, cause Harry kept playin’ with it, but we got carrots and turnips and potatoes.” Hazel’s face was, in fact, coated with a fine layer of dirt, which Edward tried to rub off with a bit of spit and his thumb, though only succeeded in having his sister squirm out of his grasp, squealing in displeasure at the prospect of him cleaning her with his saliva and really, who could blame her? “Eddie, no! I’ll just get some water from the well. I don’t want your germs!” 

Edward could only chuckle, the low muted thing that it was, and ruffle Hazel’s hair, which further perturbed the young girl. She wrenched herself from his grip and moved to join their mother in cleaning and preparing the veg for the stew. Thoughts of his ultimatum pushed to the side for the moment, Edward rose from his seat and bent beside the fireplace, cool dirt staining the knees of his pants. 

George was working on setting up the fire, large logs interlocked effortlessly, kindling surrounding it, tinder stashed in the middle. George had taken to what Edward had taught him with the ease and patience that he’d never been able to manage himself. George was more like their father, which made sense given that he was his namesake--perhaps from birth he and Reba could see the etchings of the personality there, where they hadn’t in Edward or Harold. 

Edward had always been stubborn, passionate, and hot-headed. He was unable to take no for an answer, finding any solution possible to a problem that presented itself. Edward was quick-witted, sarcastic, and biting. He was the least likable of all the Jones clan, all harsh edges unable to be sanded down. Edward wasn’t liked around town in the same manner that the rest of the Jones’, he was the brooding shadow that protected them, bite far worse than his bark, willing and able to at any moment flip a switch and ruin anyone who dare say a bad word or lay a hand on the rest of his family. 

Edward lifted a palm to squeeze the back of George’s neck, knocking their temples together for the briefest of moments. George’s smile was iridescent, brighter than the sun itself, and God, would Edward miss that. Miss everything about this, being here with the people who he belonged with. They were all that Edward had, in this life. He had no real possessions, no friends, nothing to his name but this house, this family, nothing but _home_. It wasn’t as though he wanted to leave them, to leave his life behind. The truth of the matter was that if they were to survive, he had to go. 

Mackenzie wanted Edward, there was no skirting around that. The threat had been very real when their eyes had met, and Eddie knew that there was no option other than to a) either do as was requested of him, which was repugnant on multiple levels, or b) turn his back on what he knew and figure out what he could do; what possible routes that he could take that would be viable given his moral standpoint on the war and everything involved. Would anyone from the North even accept his help, what with their general distaste towards those from the South, and, seeing as he was a Hillbilly stereotype straight out of a newspaper, would he even be taken seriously by the powers that be? 

None of that mattered now, not yet. The first step in his plan of action was to figure out a way to say goodbye to the only thing he’d ever known--a way to leave his mother, his siblings, without breaking their hearts. They’d already lost their father, after all, wouldn’t losing Edward only hurt them more? Was there any coming back from that? Edward shook himself from his thoughts, pushing past them to keep himself present. Returning the smile he had been offered, Edward stood, picking up the cast iron pot from beside the fireplace and heading out the door. Harold followed behind his footsteps, zig-zagging and giggling as he ran down the hill behind his older brother. “Be careful, Harry, don’t want ya to trip and roll like last time. Ya know Mama would be furious.” 

“ ‘m always careful, Eddie, the root came outta nowhere, I swear!” Harry was a mischievous child, and Edward would never be able to fault him in that, no matter how often it would get him into trouble. 

“Ye say that now, but ‘m not patchin’ you up when you go flyin’, mark my words.” Edward chuckled as Harry ran circles around him and the well, ignoring all warnings or threats, uncaring of disaster as he always was. Once the pot was filled with water, Edward made the journey back up the hill, Harry following hot on his heels. As he entered the home, full of laughter, the warm light from the fireplace, and his family, Edward wondered if this was going to be the last time. 

He knew it would be.

Darkness had always been a metaphor for evil when Edward was a child. The unknown, what one wasn’t able to see, what was different, was to be feared. Even though Edward was supposed to be afraid of the night, he never had been. There was some amount of comfort to be found in not knowing what lay ahead, not knowing where your next step would take you. 

Edward didn’t have much in the way of belongings. He’d never been the materialistic type of person, and even if he had been, they didn’t have the means to support such a lifestyle. He had the clothes on his back and one additional pair of blouse and trousers, his father’s wedding ring, which he wore on a chain around his neck, and a blanket his mother had sewn for him--it had taken weeks and was impossibly warm, akin to one of her embraces. It would bring him much comfort on the adventure ahead, he was sure. Edward collected his remaining clothes within the blanket, wrapped himself up in his father’s hunting jacket, and with one final look to his sleeping family, stepped into the night and greeted the unknown. 

APRIL 1863 - BUFFALO CREEK, (WEST) VIRGINIA 

They would know where Edward had gone by now--nay, perhaps not where, as he didn’t have past a half baked idea himself, but they’d know why he left. It was to protect them, wasn’t it? As long as Edward was nowhere to be found, Mackenzie would have no reason to go after his family. 

Edward had been hiking for a couple of weeks now; through the hills and mountains of Appalachia, to the muggy forests near the border to Kentucky. It felt like longer. Though Edward had always preferred the company of solely himself, sans others, even when he was alone, then, he was never truly alone. Now he had no option but the road ahead, there was no going back, nothing left for him. If he took a chance and glanced behind, he would find the path burned, metaphorically, all that had been turned to ash. 

Edward had been hearing rumors for quite some time before he left. Ever since Virginia succeeded from the United States, there was word that there were men in the mountains. That those men in the mountains were planning and forming an army to combat the looming Confederate forces that found refuge in their home. Edward didn’t know how they’d managed it, but whatever they had been doing was frustrating Lieutenant Mackenzie and his men endlessly, so it’d likely be a problem in other parts of the state as well. This was as far as he could go without crossing the line into the Virginia of slaveholders, so Edward hoped that he’d been heading blindly in some sort of logical direction. 

As luck would have it, Edward had been. 

“Stay right where you are. Don’t move a muscle.” Edward paused in his motions, palm pressed flat against the bark of a tree, foot poised to crunch through a mass of underbrush. “Are you friend or foe?” 

“My name is Edward Jones. I am no friend of Robert Mackenzie and the Confederate Army. I’m lookin’ to join ya.” Well, that seemed less of a grand declaration when he said it verbally. Hopefully, it would quell any concerns that these men had; it’s not as though he spoke like a wealthy, educated Southern gentleman. 

“‘nd how are we to believe ya?” A different voice, this time. Slow and smooth as molasses. 

“Oh, give it a rest, Shelton.” The first voice bemoaned. There was the sound of crunching leaves and branches as two men stepped into view, rifles in hand. “Come with us.” 

OCTOBER 1859 - METHUEN, MASSACHUSETTS 

Andrew’s head was clenched between his fists, teeth digging into the meat of his bottom lip as he glared sullenly at the newspaper before him. It just wasn’t right! They were people, just like him, and they deserved their freedom. 

“Not many folks, even around here, would agree with you on that.” Andrew’s mother, Allison, joined him at the kitchen table. He hadn’t realized he had spoken out loud. “I do. Your father does, your sister as well, but sentiments like that could get you killed, Andy.” 

“And?” Andrew lifted his head, gaze steely as it met his mother’s. 

“Do you really want to end up like John Brown, Andrew? Defeated and imprisoned for treason, to be hanged?” 

“Why should the end result matter if I knew I was fighting for what was right? Why should my life matter any more than theirs, mom? Why was he captured and the slaves he was working with killed?” Andrew was overflowing with endless empathy, still young and naive to the real horrors of the world. Though he’d lived in a small, close-knit, kind community all his life, Andrew wasn’t blind to reality. There were rumblings, murmurs. Not everyone, but those who had educated themselves, those who were young, the ground was shifting beneath their feet. Enslaved persons were not the objects, the belongings, that the South held them as. They were people, and they deserved better than the hand they’d been dealt in a country that so loved to proclaim that it was the land of the free. 

“That’s how it’s always been, Andrew. Violence, uproar--it will solve nothing, aside from getting you killed. Swear to me that you won’t do anything stupid, Andy. The only reasonable course of action is through law and the right channels. There are ways to go about change and revolts and raids are not it.” Allison reached out to take Andrew’s hand, but he recoiled from her touch, leaning back in his chair, as far away from the woman who raised him as physicality would allow. 

“You know that won’t work, Mom. Nothing gets done through careful and polite politics; the only way is through swift action. If the next Presidential election doesn’t tear this country apart, slavery will, mark my words.” Andrew didn’t have much in the means of individualism, but he did have his convictions, which were tried and true. 

“And what if it were to come to war, Andrew? Is this something you’ll die for?” It was a question a mother never wanted to ask, but more than her pride, she needed to hear, to know, the depth Andy was willing to go. 

“Yes, Mom. I would gladly die to ensure people are treated with the respect and dignity they deserve.” 

Allison sighed, her head dropping to her hands. Andrew stood, clenching the newspaper in his fist as he stormed from the room, decision and words final.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen, i was inspired by the idea of mossback!eddie, and shit sorta got away from me. like, a whole 7 chaptered fic kind of got away and now the world has to pay the price.


	2. Envy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *arrives at this second chapter two weeks late with a Starbucks butterbeer coconut milk frappe* now that the holiday season is over, it's time to feed the hoes who are hungry for some 1860s AndyEddie content. 
> 
> also, uh....did y'all ask for a slow burn cause this is kinda/sorta a slow burn now. yikes! didn't mean it to be but i simply can't shut up while I'm narrating!

SEPTEMBER 17th, 1862 - SHARPSBURG, MARYLAND 

When Andrew told his mother three years ago that he would gladly die for abolition, he had been woefully unprepared for what he was going to face when he stuck to his convictions (as most naive folks were when they left their decidedly liberal nest and breached into the broader world). Allison had tried to warn him before he voluntarily enlisted and left home, tried to tell him that the rest of the country wasn’t as amicable and idealist as his dorms at university, but Andrew was far too stubborn to listen to the truth when he’d set his sight on something, and when he knew that lives were on the line. 

The Southern states began to secede from the United States to form the Confederate States of America on December 20th, 1860, after Abraham Lincoln was elected into the Presidency, hot under the collar at the thought that Lincoln would steal their means of production from them, steal what was their property. The root of the problem was that Southern plantation owners, and a great number of the populace all over the country, did not view slaves as people, instead, they were belongings to be ripped from their hands. Following the wave of secession that began with South Carolina, Confederate forces launched an attack on Fort Sumter on April 12th, 1861. The country had split in two and was now at war with itself based solely on the fact that people were fucking racist. 

To Andrew, this was just a chance to prove that he could and would stick to his convictions, that he knew what was right and would fight tooth and nail to make sure that the world was as just as his rose-colored glasses tinted it as. He enlisted without a second thought, without a god damn regard for his safety, even though he had no military knowledge or training himself up until that point, didn’t have any real hunger for battle, either, but if this was the only acceptable way to stand up to the institution of slavery, then so be it. His body could be of use, if not his mind and his sharp tongue. 

Andrew rose through the ranks quicker than even he could imagine. Despite his lack of experience, he was well-liked by the other men in his unit for his cheerful, supportive, and downright kind attitude, which, after years of battle, was very rare within the Union army. He relentlessly put other people before himself, time after time. Gave out his rations, forced men to take a break, made sure everyone wrote home to their families, especially when they felt it was impossible to do so, and eventually, because of his generous and warm nature, he became Captain Haldane of the 15th Massachusetts Volunteer Infantry. Though the men of the 15th had their shit rocked and was continuously one of the units with the heaviest losses, their morale was always notably high because of Andrew and his caring mannerism. 

Andrew didn’t show the men just how much the war was wearing him down, slowly chipping at his soul with a bloody pickaxe, managed to maintain a positive, if not chipper demeanor until he was alone in his tent, flaps closed, gaze blurred as it stared down at a scrawl that was undoubtedly his mother’s. His letters from home were received more infrequently than any of the other men’s; it wasn’t as though Allison had suddenly started loving him any less, but he could tell that she was disappointed with his choice and that he’d inadvertently broken his mother’s heart. It was hard to know that he, always the golden child, had sunk to a path so low and downtrodden, but, alas, what mattered more than his wellbeing was always and forever the greater good. To him, this was not a choice, but simply how things had to be, and if Allison Haldane couldn’t accept that, well--Andrew had lived with his father’s disappointment for long enough to know that parental disapproval was painful but survivable. 

Although Andrew had seen plenty of combat at this point, he had never seen a bloodbath quite like the unit experienced at Antietam Creek. The Confederates held a position that was heavily fortified and easy to defend, so even though their numbers were less in strength than that of the Union forces, they were able to hold them back as though they were insects to be swatted. Volley after volley tore the men under Kimball’s command into pieces, yet they stood and fought back as determined as ever to follow Andrew’s lead. The guilt of it was eating away at him, gnawing away at a heart that was already so near to shattering. 

Andrew watched with his own eyes as a minie ball smashed its brunt way through Reynold’s cheek and out the back of his skull, could still see the look of fear and anguish in his gaze even as he turned forward to rally his men as the Rebels began to flee, finally, past their point of defense and in the direction of Sharpsburg. Eager to lead by example, Andrew vaulted over the pile of fence rails that had held the Union offensive off for hours of brutal fighting before waving K Company forward with a rallying cry. One of the remaining Confederates stared Andrew down, rifle tight in fists as though it was his only Earthly possession, and for all he knew, it might’ve well been. The other man was a starved and haggard creature, skin and bone, sickly, hollow cheeks, and haunted gaze forcing Andrew to pause in his steps. Their eyes stayed locked on one another for moment after agonizing moment, even as some of K Company finally leaped over the obstacle in their path and joined him in the chase of the Confederate forces. 

Ultimately, it was the Rebel who made the first move, storming toward Andrew with a feral roar, more like an animal than man now, and Andrew was so stunned by the knowledge that his duck was offbeat, allowing the enemy’s bayonet to graze his cheek, slicing through his flesh with the cool and unclean metal, warm blood trickling into the blue wool of his uniform. Andrew did not allow him a second shot at his life--he pulled his sidearm from its holster and shot him point-blank, watching the other man hit the ground while a sick wave of bile rose in his throat. The sight of another person, one who he had killed, lying on the ground, bullet hole coated in black powder, blood slick, and dark red as it pooled from his skull was not something his heart could take. God, Andrew couldn’t look anymore, the sickly smell of sulfur surrounding him only caused the nausea to worsen. He set his shoulders and cast his gaze forward on the task at hand, ignoring the new guilt that was twisting at his insides. 

  
  


JULY 4th, 1863 - GETTYSBURG, PENNSYLVANIA 

What had started as a healthy unit with men from Worcester County at the beginning of the war had become a shambled group that was barely enough to field in even the most desperate of battles. Andrew had never felt like more of a failure in his life; he’d been unable to protect his men, no matter how misguided that want was, and now he was left with a skeleton crew that could barely hang on with its morale on the last dregs. Gettysburg had been a bloodbath and once again, the unit had lost more than half of its number, this time only eighty-four men returning with their lives intact. Perhaps Andrew had bitten off more than he could chew, maybe his mother had been right in that one should take the course of least resistance. Even so, Andrew couldn’t bring himself to regret the choices that brought him to this moment. 

Writing letters home to relatives and spouses was Andrew’s least favorite part of being in command, and these days the pile was infinite and cumbersome. In the back of his mind, Andrew wondered if anyone would bother to do the same for him if he had fallen in combat, and darkly, through his failings, supposed that maybe whoever took over his position wouldn’t bother. This was a man who’d lead those in his charge into death time after time, did he deserve the same sort of respect and care that he poured into letters until his fingers and heart ached alike? 

Without announcement, William Hays entered Andrew’s tent, leaving the Captain to scramble and fuss to salute the General, knocking his small, backless chair onto the grass inelegantly. “General Hays. How can I help you, Sir?” It was a sloppier greeting than Andrew would’ve liked, but Hays seemed uncaring in his rush to speak about what he’d gone there for. 

“Captain Haldane. I don’t mean to intrude, but this order comes from higher up than I and is rather urgent.” Hays took off his cap and held it against his breast with a crooked elbow as he ran a hand through his hair. “Gibbon was supposed to give word after the battle was over, but since his injury yesterday he’s been indisposed.” Hays seemed uncomfortable, neglecting to maintain eye contact for longer than a few seconds at a time. He wasn’t a CO that often interacted with subordinates. “You are to select five men from K Company and make your way to West Virginia on a special mission. The rest of the company is being transferred to the 20th.” 

“Sir?” Andrew’s brows furrowed. What sort of mission only involved six men by themselves? Wasn’t scouting and gaining information the job of the Sharpshooting attachment? 

“The numbers of the 15th are too few to remain a regiment all by itself. I’m sorry, Haldane. Intelligence thinks it better to reuse part of the unit for this task and make the best of such heavy losses.” 

“What is this mission, Sir?” Andrew dropped his shoulders, resigned to accept any duty asked of him, as long as it bettered the cause that he was championing. 

“There are rumors that there are men in the Appalachians hiding from the Confederates and attacking them, stealing their resources. In general, causing more harm to their former government than good. We’ve tried to make contact to no avail. We need men to go in and investigate, see if we can rally them to something more. I know you’ll be up to the task, Haldane. They seceded from the Confederacy for a reason.” 

“Of course, Sir. I’ll select only the best K Company has to offer.” Andrew saluted Hays once more before the General left, hat perched just slightly off-balance on his head. The Captain took a moment to right his fallen chair before he exited his tent into blinding sunlight, hand cast over his eyes so he could properly take in the remaining men in his charge. Although Andrew already knew exactly who he wanted to accompany him on this particular journey, knew exactly who he could trust by his side for an unknown period. They sat around a dying fire, more cheerful than they probably had the right to be, though the sight brought a genuine smile to the officer’s lips. “Leyden, Leckie, Juergens, Conley, De L’Eau.” The group of men turned to stare at Andrew, offering him matching crooked grins. 

“Yes, Sir?” Leckie replied, stirring a chunk of hardtack in a cup of coffee that smelled not at all appealing. 

“I’ve got a special mission for you boys if you’re up for it.” 

“You picked the right fellas, Captain Haldane.” 

JULY 10th, 1863 - BUFFALO CREEK, WEST VIRGINIA 

Edward fell into his life in the mountains with an ease that was unnatural to anything else in his life. He’d taken care of his siblings without much complaint, but patience and care had never been his natural state of being. Edward was the firstborn, a draft of what was to come, each child after him a more perfect amalgamation of his parents where he had not been. Loving them was the simplest part, and the rest followed with great effort. Mountain living was exactly what Edward was built for--it was an uncomplicated life if one ignored the politics of what they were doing; the same as the life that every one of them would’ve had back home if the Confederates weren’t breathing down their necks and stealing far past the amount that the government had allotted them. 

Although it’d been a rocky start, especially since Shelton (given name Merriell, which he seemed to dislike solely because it wasn’t as intimidating a name as he’d like), hadn’t been too trusting of a newcomer so late in the game, Edward was finding his place among the other wild men easy enough (though some, like Shelton, were wilder than others). He most favored the company of Burgie or Sledge, with whom he could hold in-depth and lengthy conversations without either losing his head or growing silent from lack of interest. Burgin was the sanest of them all and in a lot of ways was the mediator between members of the group, at least when Edward was too impatient to bother. Sledge was kind-hearted and with good intentions, but his actions left something to be desired. Phillips, his best friend (they ran away from home together, Mobile, Sledge explained, from their wealthy, plantation owning families), in all ways much too similar to a puppy; overeager, cheerful, and occasionally moronic. Shelton was as hot-headed as Edward himself was, but with less self-control and with more bark than bite. Hoosier, for all intents and purposes, didn’t much care to be in their ranks but stayed just the same--perhaps home was worse than the Mountains. Edward wasn’t one to judge, couldn’t be when his reason for leaving was one based on moral quandary instead of all logic. 

Since Edward was the eldest, by default, or maybe as punishment, the boys decided that he was to be in charge of their little group, which had been separated from other groups of men that had formed in the mountains, possibly because of experience, or prejudice. Edward didn’t see the point in that--after all, they all shared the same enemy, and though not all of them were on the same moral standpoint as himself, at least the select few in his unit understood how unjustifiable it was to fight in a war that they had no part in. 

On June 20th, 1863, West Virginia was officially admitted into the United States of America as the last slave state that would be accepted. This is what they’d be struggling for all this time, after all--to be disavowed from the Confederacy that they wanted nothing to do with. A country filled to the brim with traitors, amoral folk who’d betray that to which they belonged because they were _wrong_. Now the land that the boys resided in was part of the Union, but still...the Confederates found themselves returning to what wasn’t theirs and stealing from folk as they had been before the annexation of West Virginia. 

If the Union was too caught up in the war to give their new state aid, well who was Edward Jones and his band of merry misfits to deny the people assistance? They had rifles and other weapons, they had a will and they certainly had the means to be intimidating. Edward and Hoosier had dragged branches into the path to block the Rebels and their horses before all six took up positions and their arms. Hoosier and Shelton elected to sit atop branches, Sledge and Phillips taking up either side of the road while Edward and Burgin stood directly in the track, rifles leveled. The two were cool, calm, and collected as the parade of Confederates approached; two on horseback, two more atop a cart carrying goods that were freshly stolen from homes. 

Edward recognized the man in front--of course he did, he and Robert Mackenzie had quite the history, didn’t they? His lips pulled back as he bared his teeth in a sneer, ready to break formation and just take this son of bitch out on his own, had it not been for the gentle nudge from Burgie at his side. Edward took a deep breath and stared into the gaze of the man he hated until the cart stopped just short of the group, Mackenzie letting out an amused laugh. “What do we have here?” 

“Good mornin’. Step on down, Lieutenant.” Edward motioned with the barrel of his rifle. Mackenzie shook his head but obeyed, and shit if he didn’t want to beat the smile off the other man’s face with the butt of his weapon. “Gentlemen.” Edward directed as Mackenize took a precious few steps forward, too close for his comfort, thank you very much. Hoosier and Shelton dropped from the trees as Phillips and Sledge bridged the distance between them. Edward could feel the warmth of Burgie’s breath on the back of his neck, and it was comforting to know that even if he didn’t feel strong, he was giving off the impression that he was. 

“It’s just stuff. You’d kill a man over useless shit?” 

Edward cocked a brow, pressing his rifle against Mackenzie’s quivering throat. Maybe he was scared after all. “I’d kill a man for less. It ain’t just shit, Lieutenant. It’s everythin’ to the residents of West Virginia, and you have no right to take it from them. We ain’t a part of your _Confederate States_ anymore.” 

“I’ve heard of ya and your domestic terrorist group. Bunch of spineless morons, it seems, led by the biggest fool of all. Do ya have a deathwish or somethin’, Jones? I told ya you’d get what’s coming to ya.” Mackenzie’s eyes were cold but Edward did not waver. “‘nd ya have a Creole with you. How fitting fer the dogs the rest a’ya are.” Shelton was point two seconds from blowing up at Mackenzie until Sledge put an open palm on his chest, pushing him back. 

“It don’t matter who’s with us, only against us and I believe that ta be quite obvious right ‘bout now, huh, Lieutenant?” For the first time, Edward could register the fear in Mackenzie’s eyes, and that was victory enough on its own. “Phillips!” 

“Yes, Sir?” Sidney bounded over to them, grinning as though this was the best damn day of his life. It might’ve been, for all Edward knew. 

“What rank are ya?” 

“Private, probably, Sir.” They hadn’t discussed the minutiae of their little faction here, aside from the fact that Edward was placed in charge. 

“Ya a Lieutenant now.” Edward snatched the hat that sat atop Mackenzie’s head and handed it to Phillips without taking his eyes off of him. It was the ultimate kick in the teeth to a man who so prided himself in his uniform; it had never seen a second of battle, that much was clear. He was a fraud. The rest of the boys laughed as Edward took a step back, but not too far out of reach. “Take yer coat off, too. Help him out, Phillips.” It was only a moment, but it must’ve been embarrassing for Mackenize, his face was bright red with the indignation of it all. 

Once Mackenzie had been stripped of his grandness, Edward stepped forward again, menacing in his smile. “Now y’all are gonna lay down on the ground, face down, and stay there ‘till we leave, otherwise we’ll shoot ya dead.” Mackenzie was furious, but he nodded in understanding once more, kneeling on the dirt. “What was tha’?” 

“Yes, Sir,” Mackenzie replied through gritted teeth. Edward laughed before he kicked the other man into the dirt, carefully eyeing the other Confederates until they, too, were on the ground. After, Edward and the boys hopped atop the cart and started down the road, Edward’s grip tight on the reigns even in their victory. They made it halfway into the mountains before their path was blocked by men in navy blue who seemed just as surprised to see them as they were themselves. 

“Who tha fuck is that?” Shelton questioned, immediately leveling his rifle on the intruders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter featured my ass spending literally an hour staring at the battle map for Antietam and comprehending absolutely none of it on New Years', which was obviously a very good use of my time lmao. i am only proving just how well God nerfed the gays with my dumb ass out here. -.-
> 
> fun little factoid for the nerds out there, the 15th MVI sustained the 10th-highest number of men killed or fatally wounded in action among all 1,200 Federal regiments. And, at a certain point, there were so few men in the unit remaining that they were transferred to the 20th MVI (by June 22nd, 1864 they could only field 75 men AND officers, and then they were captured. it's a big yikes from me dawg).
> 
> please take note here that during the ACW, units were actually compromised of only people from one specific part of a state or something else specific, like the 20th being the "Harvard" unit because most of them were Harvard graduates. The fact that these boys are from all over the country makes absolutely zero sense, but we're ignoring that so we can have named and important characters in Andy's unit. (and it would be likely that Leyden would be in the 69th NVI, which is truly a loss cause haha, 69 :P ) 
> 
> the mossbacking bit of this chapter was inspired by a scene from The Free State of Jones, which is really the film that y'all have to thank for birthing this fic, say thank you to crusty MM's white ass.


	3. Lust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a day late cause ya boy was in a lot of pain the past few days & it was my dad's birthday yesterday but it's finally here, giving just a hint of relief to the slow burn that is AndyEddie, featuring plenty of moral quandaries and a struggle to understand the meaning behind another's man's life. 
> 
> it's very existential. *finger guns* have a gucci time, gang.

Andrew had known that he was different since he was a child. Not just because he was highly educated, or because of his insanely moralistic point of view but because he had never felt the same attraction to women that other boys did. He’d always been uncomfortable with the way men looked at women--predatory, lecherous, as though they wanted to devour them. At first, Andrew thought that it was simply because he didn’t disrespect women and held them to a higher regard, which was, of course, very correct, but when he woke up coated in sweat after dreaming of a man’s caress, he knew the truth. There was a growing, desperate fear in his heart at the realization. Even though his family was open-minded about certain politics, Andrew was certain that they would not have an amiable reaction to his sexual proclivities. So, after the dream, and the many following, Andrew overtly ignored anything to do with romance. He focused on his studies, on his aspirations, and his goals so he had no time to think about anything else, even if he couldn’t avert his gaze when certain situations arose. 

Andrew avoided romance, so of course, Sidney Haldane had no choice but to step in when it came to his son’s love life. As soon as Andrew finished schooling, Sidney introduced him to his friend’s daughter, Rebecca Stern. It was clear from the moment that they met that Sidney was trying to set the two up, perhaps as a favor to the friend, maybe because he was sick of his eligible son’s bachelor status (which made a certain amount of sense since Sidney had married off Amelia off as soon as he was physically able to). Rebecca was a sweet girl, and Andrew was sure that she’d make someone very happy, but that someone  _ wasn’t _ him, and he was positive that Rebecca knew that herself, which was why she encouraged him to go to Bowdoin and continue his education instead of staying in Methuen to keep up a charade of suiting. 

Andrew shipped off to Bowdoin with little warning, which upset his mother and infuriated his father, but he flourished even with such a small amount of space away from home and in an environment with other men determined to better themselves. And if his first kiss happened to be claimed there, that was no one’s business besides his own. Sidney, however, was not as pleased as Andrew was with his planned and executed escape from Methuen. He sent letter after letter, instructing Andrew to return home, to abandon this fanciful flight and marry Rebecca, as was his familial duty. When he received no reply, Sidney simply stopped talking to Andrew. Even after graduating from Bowdoin with a degree in hand, four years since his family had last seen him, Sidney wanted nothing to do with Andrew. He didn’t say a word upon his Homecoming, and even worse, continued to be mum when in the presence of his only son. This continued still to this day. Andrew hadn’t spoken to his father since he was seventeen. It had been eight years. 

Sidney had always been distant while Andrew was growing up, but the lack of a paternal figure in his formative years, instead of leading him to seek another out, forced him to be that presence in other people’s lives, even when it wasn’t warranted. That was part of what made Andrew a good Captain--he cared for the men in his charge much like one would their children, despite the occasional complaints because he knew that, in the end, if he didn’t take care of them, no one else in the military would. The methods of fighting were outdated and the newer weaponry worsened the number of casualties. To stand in a line and allow oneself to be cannon fodder--surely there must’ve been a better way to go about it! Alas, Andrew had learned much with his education, but military tactics were not one of them, nor would it be a great idea to argue with those in charge of him if only out of fear of being forced to abandon the men of K Company. 

Andrew had keen instincts. That was why when he and his chosen men were approached on the road into the Appalachia by six men hightailing up the mountain in a cart chock-full of stuff, he dropped his rifle to the ground (a rifle he secured only for this mission) and lifted his hands in the air, palms facing the group. He wanted to express that he wasn’t a threat, but likely to them he wasn’t one anyway. Some wealthy, educated boy from Massachusetts out of his element? Yeah...none of them were scared of him. Leyden cursed behind Andrew as the rest of the remaining members of the K Company reluctantly released their weapons. The man at the front of the cart arched a brow and gave Andrew a crooked grin, which told him the only thing that he needed to know: Andrew was well and truly fucked. 

Edward never bothered in deluding himself about his sexual attraction--the moment that he saw Jacob Lewis strip his coal dusted shirt off outside the grocer’s when he was nine, he was quite aware that he was not straight. And for the most part, he was at peace with the knowledge that he was attracted to men--it might get him killed, but so would many other things about his existence, so he wasn’t altogether too concerned as long as he kept it quiet. After all, there were certainly other folks around Sutton who held the same interests as him, that much he learned once he was old enough to wander around town late at night as though he was some unsavory character from one of those books his Ma loved to read so much. 

The real issue came to light when Robert Mackenzie walked in on Edward and Francis Hill necking behind the Post Office one evening. His gaze lingered on the two locked in an embrace, frozen, ready to bolt. However, Mackenzie left the scene almost as quickly as he stumbled into it and Edward had no choice to follow, terrified of what Robert would do with the information he’d just ingested. When he’d caught up to Mackenzie, grabbed his elbow, and wrenched him around to face him, Edward had no reason to believe that he’d be anything other than repulsed. As such, it was quite a shock when Mackenzie kissed him square on the mouth in the middle of the street, sloppy and raw. Horrified, Edward pushed at Robert’s chest, hard, brows furrowed as his hands clenched into fists at his side. 

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t knock yer teeth free from yer mouth.” Just because Edward liked men did  _ not _ mean that he liked every man, and he was revolted at the idea of a rich plantation owner’s son thinking that it was okay to kiss him. In public, no less! Luckily, it was late at night so shops were closed--regardless, it was a foolish thing to do. 

“Now we both have a secret to be spilled,” was the only reply Edward received before Mackenzie’s form retreated into the night. How had Robert even known that he and Francis were there? If he hadn’t known, why was he wandering around town at such a late hour?  _ Why had Mackenzie kissed him? _ These were questions that Edward had yet to receive answers to, even after days of living in fear that Mackenzie would speak upon what he’d seen and cause the eldest Jones child harm. However, days grew to weeks, weeks grew to months, and Edward realized, eventually, that Mackenzie wasn’t a threat because of his knowledge of Edward’s sexuality, but for entirely different reasons altogether. 

Even so, Edward kept the truth under wraps after that day--no longer did he meet other men in secret rendezvous, not when his already tarnished family’s reputation was on the line. His new mountain men friends weren’t explicitly made aware of his proclivities either, but Edward had a sense that even if they did know, they wouldn’t be the sort to mind. If he was reading cues right, some of them  _ might _ even have the same inclinations. However, this was not the time or place for romance--these six men were here for one thing only; to protect the sovereignty of the state of West Virginia. To defend and care for the people that they’d known their whole lives from the evil sedition of the Confederacy. 

Confederates wore many hats, but Edward recognized this Prussian blue drabbed group of men could only be one thing: a group of Union soldiers. How they had made it thus far into West Virginia with Rebels and their loyalists surrounding the mountains, he did not know but was intrigued to find out why they had come. Edward cast a glance over his shoulder at the sound of Shelton’s voice, hiding his laugher behind a smirk. “Put tha’ down, Shelton, can’t ya recognize these are Yankees?” 

Shelton grumbled but lowered his weapon. He didn’t let go of it, but he wouldn’t try shooting this group of strangers.  _ For now _ . Edward returned his attention to the Union Soldiers, led by a Captain that he was reluctant to admit was frighteningly handsome. Worryingly, as Edward did not need any more distractions from his duty. “What brings ya boys here to our neck of tha woods?” For all his part, the handsome man didn’t seem scared of the mountain men, which was quite a feat. 

“We were sent here by General Hays. The Union has received intelligence that men are hiding out in the mountains, sabotaging the Confederates. He sent us to convenience you to join us.” Andrew stated his mission in a matter of fact tone, as though there wouldn’t be room for argument. Little did he know that there was always room for argument when one Edward Jones was involved. The prospect even wrung a laugh from the usually stoic fellow. 

“And this General Hays thinks that it would be so easy to lure us like this? With six armed men from the North?” It was an amusing notion, and one born of absolute misinformation. After all, what was less welcoming than a group of armed men that killed people like them without a second glance? What an offer. “You’ll have ta give us time ta think about it. We’re only simple country folk, after all.” Southern hospitality had never been in reach for Edward, and as such he didn’t feel the need to even attempt to pretend to extend such a thing. Shelton and Hoosier let out a pair of wolfish hollering laughs, and Edward couldn’t help but grin in return but did take pity on the haggard, exhausted group of soldiers. “Hop on up. We can break bread and hear ya out before sendin’ ya on yer way. I’m sure it took a lot for ya ta get here. Can’t leave you for the Confederates ta kill.” 

Edward was playing with fire when he offered the seat at the front of the cart beside him to the Captain, patting the rugged, uneven wood. More surprising to see was the other man following the suggestion, gesturing for his men to climb aboard before doing so himself, sitting so close to Edward that he could feel the warmth radiating from him. No, this certainly was not going to end well. Edward swallowed hard, averting his gaze to the road ahead as he ushered the horses onward and upward; they began the slow ascent up the mountain. The men in the cart started chatting without much trepidation, though an awkward silence grew between the two leaders. Edward’s fear and reservations kept him silent, but Andrew’s lips were tied solely because a rare bout of anxiety rose within him--since university, he hadn’t had a chance to be sans parents near an attractive man, even if he didn’t seem to like him very much. 

Although all Andrew wanted to do was sneak glances at eyes so blue he could almost drown in them, he couldn’t ignore that he had an actual purpose here to serve and that if he failed he could be letting his entire country down. At the very least, he had to ignore the sinful bubbling in the pit of his stomach and focus on the task at hand which was to somehow convince this man, who appeared to hate anything and anyone foreign, that he and his jolly band of misfits should forgo solitude and join him and the Union on a mission that the greater good hung in the balance of. _ Inhale, exhale _ . Finally, he gained the courage to speak. “My name is Andrew Haldane. You are?” Yeah, there wasn’t even a hint of awkwardness there. Internally, Andrew stuffed his face into his hands and let out a feral, pained scream, feeling quite inferior. 

Edward only continued to be amused by the uppity, Yankee stranger that sat beside him, though he could no longer be called a stranger with the introduction of his name. Simply an unwanted acquaintance. “‘m Edward Jones. Where’re ya from?” This wasn’t a particular accent that he’d heard before--it was fast, tonally flat, and there was little to no inflection in the way that he spoke. It was fair to say that Edward hadn’t been exposed to many Northern accents in his time since he’d only left home on a handful of occasions. 

“Northeast Massachusetts, close to the border of New Hampshire,” Andrew replied, though was unsure as to whether or not Edward would know any sort of thing about the geography of the country (his educated ego had a certain amount of bias towards an assumption that he did not), Edward nodded, all the same, indicating that he did, even if it was just to console the newly anxious man beside him. 

“‘nd what do you hope to accomplish, Andrew? Don’tcha think that if we wanted to join any army, we already would’ve?” It was a valid point, which Edward knew and that Andrew couldn’t argue against. Even if he wasn’t able to convince them, all Andrew could do was try his very best in doing what he’d been tasked with. If not for the war but himself; he couldn’t live with it if he didn’t at least try to sway the wild men, who didn’t seem to him to be as wild as expressed. 

“I can state my case and hope that it warms something within you. I’m not a complete fool, but I don’t want to have risked these men’s lives in vain. It’s dangerous, with all these Confederates around. We’re far outnumbered. It’d be obscene to pretend otherwise, but I would be failing them and myself if I didn’t do everything in my power to get you to try and see our perspective. You men are meant for more than backwoods fighting and living each moment like it may be the last. We can give that to you; I promise it’s a purpose well worth fighting for. It’s clear that you don’t agree with Confederate politics. You could help make this country a better place!” 

Edward frowned at the hearty and impassioned, but meaningless speech, jaw clenching as he fought back a few choice and rather impolite words that came to mind. However, because Andrew was pretty and possibly amusing, he repressed the urge to spit fire and brimstone at this man and maintained a somewhat calm, cool, and collected air. Well, as _ calm, cool, and collected  _ that any Jones could be (which admittedly, probably wasn’t very much.) “What if we don’t want a life aside from what we are now? Have ya considered yet that perhaps this is the life that we want to lead? That this is a choice of our own volition, not a last resort?” 

That hadn’t been what Andrew had meant, but it’d come across as a sort of disdain for a simpler life despite any intentions. He pursed his lips, attempting to switch tracks in his mind. How could he properly express what he’d meant when Edward was so stubbornly against everything that Andrew was and represented? Surely there was some ground that they both stood upon equally and could come to some sort of agreement? Andrew just had to figure out the angle. “Am I wrong in thinking that you don’t agree with the Confederates? I’m at a loss as to why you would rebuke them if you agreed in their methods.” For Andrew, all things were held to the height of morality and where something lay on that balance. Morality forwent logic, even, if the logic got in the way of what was truly just. 

Edward was loathed to admit such persistence was attractive, even if it was a waste of time. It was hard to convince anyone of anything, and it seemed that the two were an even match in their unwillingness to abandon certain positions. It was a war of the wills, even greater than that of their own country. “I never said that I agreed with what they were doin’, what they’ve been doin’ fer forever. Slavery is evil, the owning and torture of our fellow man is not somethin’ I abide by,” Which one could tell just looking at their group. Shelton was with them and not others for a reason. Even being partial of not-white blood in Confederate territory could get you killed for nothing aside from simply existing. “It’s not just ‘bout that, though it is a big part of my distaste fer Confederates. Their foulness has many faces. They steal food and belongings from their civilians, they send poor farmers to die for a cause that they could never come to appreciate but refuse to do the same themselves.” Edward’s words were heated, and he felt a certain amount of righteous fury that was a bit over the line of polite conversation. 

Andrew didn’t know the intricacies of the Confederate forces and what made them up. He’d only ever focused on the bigger picture, choosing to ignore details to not get wrapped up in how distasteful and painful killing was in and of itself, even if battle dictated the need. As someone born of wealth himself, he had assumed that other men like him weren’t cowards who bought their way out the war, and on his high horse had ignored the basics of human nature which was to sacrifice others if it served one’s means. Andrew, in all of his moral goodness, forgot that other people were not him, did not think in the same way that he did and did not have only good intentions at heart and that is where he failed to understand the predicament that these mountain men were in. Surrounded by those that had imprisoned them in a menial life, subservient to people who profited from their failure. It was a choice that Andrew never had to face: die for a cause of which you did not believe in, or die your own man, resisting the tyranny of true evil. As he was someone born with privilege, he hadn’t thought to acknowledge that those who weren’t had to make difficult decisions such as between a life that you’d always known and trying to better it in the only way you could. Strangely, when it came down to it, that was something that Andrew understood intimately, a task that he’d failed at plenty of times himself. This was the ground that they both stood on--this is where Andrew and Edward could plainly understand one another. The only problem now was to convince Edward that he was worth talking to when time for them was so precious. 

“Some people are born just to get buried,” Andrew finally said, after a long, agonizing moment of silence. “But you aren’t one of them, Mister Jones. I refuse to believe that. I know that this is the only life that you can see yourself leading, but what if the path of good can offer you more than just danger? What if we could find a place for you and your men that didn’t mean dying considered a traitor?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was thrilled and delighted to find that Bowdoin (the college Andy went to irl) did, in fact, exist in the 1800s! even more exciting, i found the actual course catalog from the time, which can be found here: https://digitalcommons.bowdoin.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1076&context=course-catalogues. i find it especially weird that they listed every single student within the catalog, then again...privacy wasn't such a big issue at the time, was it? now it is canon that this andy knows latin, french, german, spanish, italian and hebrew! truly love that for him, what a fucking nerd.


	4. greed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a healthy dose of warning for this chapter: there is brief, casual mentions of period-typical racism (which i like to avoid but cannot with the reality of the piece), suicide and a hate crime resulting in death. please be careful if this may trigger you: again, it is brief, but it's there. read at your own discretion.

Edward had been alive long enough on this Earth to know, intuitively, when someone had bad intentions. Though Andrew was naive and far too eager, the reasons for this were only of good intent, so even though the hillbilly wanted to ream the young officer a new asshole for speaking so out of turn, he couldn’t find the will to do such a thing when Andrew was looking at him with such openness and earnest righteous emotion. One couldn’t help what they were born into, and just like Edward had reluctantly accepted the help of Sledge and Phillips (at first, he had, of course, grown to appreciate them), he would not deter someone who had their heart in the right place. After all, something was charming about such ardent devotion to the greater good, even if slightly out of tune with reality. Edward couldn’t hide the quirk of his lips as he peeked at the other man out of the corner of his eye, shaking his head despite himself. “I don’t much care for my reputation, especially not once I’m dead. People may think what they’d like, doesn’t mean any of it’s true.” As long as it didn’t fall badly onto his family, Edward had little care about such matters. 

Andrew pursed his lips, sensing that his usual talking points were not going to shift this man’s perspective. This would make the journey longer--he’d have to get to know Mister Jones better to figure out just how he may be able to convince him that his route was best. He needed to take a step back while he reassessed his approach. Instead of continuing his assault, Andrew settled the small of his back against the seat, casting his eyes over the bonding of their two groups before finally returning his gaze to the fascinating man sat beside him. There was just something about Edward that settled the weight that perpetually pressed at his throat. “But you care about something. You care about your people, and there’s honor in that.” 

Edward scoffed, but heat bloomed behind his cheeks as a small smile crept onto his lips. “Ain’t got nothin’ to do with honor. Just doin’ what should be done. I got no respect for those that would turn on their neighbors just to get the favor of a false government, nor would harm other people just for their gain. Ain’t right.” Edward was a better person than he liked to project--at his core was someone desperate to be approved of, at least by certain people. Certainly not the population as a whole, but part of the reason he’d set up a moat between him and Mackenzie since that certain incident was because he didn’t think he’d be able to take the look on his family’s face when they found out what he truly was. For some reason, he found himself wanting the approval of this Yankee stranger, which was, admittedly, a very new thing for the mountain man. It made something deep within him crawl up the base of his throat, a feeling that had been more common when he was younger that he’d suppressed for quite some time. 

Finally, the group arrived at the little encampment Edward called home, his boys hoping off the cart with little ceremony, the Northerns a bit more reluctant, seeing as they were in enemy territory, location unknown. Edward had to fight real hard to hold back laughter--it wasn’t that he wished to make fun of them, moreso he was amused at the idea that Yankees were here in their camp and undeterred by its state, which wasn’t exactly the most organized and cleanly situation. Young men weren’t taught to take care of themselves or others because that was a ‘woman’s place’, and although Edward had taken care of his younger siblings for most of his life, he certainly wasn’t prepared, nor willing, to take care of grown-ass men and their business. 

Despite being an immaculate and tidy person, Andrew didn’t much mind a mess, especially if it was only temporary. God knew just how filthy and disgusting life was like in the military, it would be a surprise if he and the rest of this gaggle of the remaining members of K Company weren’t grimier than these mountain men. Andrew took a few steps back and directed his men to help the others with anything they needed: namely, the goal was to set a fire before the sun set completely before he decided to aid Edward in detaching the horses from the cart. He hadn’t grown up around farm animals, but his family was wealthy enough to have a singular horse for when travel was necessary. 

Andrew made sure to approach the horse with caution, placing a long, broad palm on its side, patting it gently so it was made aware that he was present and not going to harm it. “There, there. We’ll get you free.” Keeping his hand on the creature, it slid down the horse’s side as Andrew crouched to tug the under girth free, humming softly, comfortingly in the hopes that it would soothe the horse. It appeared to be working, for the most part. The horse at least didn’t try to buck and kick him square in the face. Then, the Captain moved to undo the breaching around the shaft of the cart; first on the side he was occupying, and, after a bit of finagling around, palm still pressed to the horse’s skin the entire way through, the other also. This was followed by the removing of the traces from the cart, which took a bit of gentle tugging but minimal effort--the traces were wrapped around the horse’s back for the moment so they couldn’t be stepped on. Finally, at the same time as Edward, Andrew pulled the shaft from his horse’s tug and carefully dropped the cart a few paces away from the animals’ dangerous cloven hooves. 

Edward and Andrew both took a horse by the harness and led them toward a surprisingly well taken care of barn, Edward watching the other man with an unreadable expression; at least, Andrew couldn’t decipher it, though it made a lump develop in the base of his throat. “Where’d ya learn to take care of horses?” The question was only natural--there were plenty of assumptions to be made about a Northern well-to-do man who had enough money to afford an officer’s uniform that was so immaculately manicured. 

“My parents own a small carriage, and I tend to prefer the company of animals to most people,” This fact had only become true within recent years--the more he’d seen of humanity, the more he’d been recluse, though he did his best to be as social as he could, so as his mental health wouldn’t suffer as it tended to when he was to himself for too long a period. “That way my parents didn’t need to get extra stable help until I went to college, and I could learn a useful skill.” Not to mention that the stable hand was the first crush that Andrew had ever had--yeah, Edward didn’t need to know anything about his sexuality and looming attraction to the other man who’d likely vehemently be disgusted by it. 

Edward nodded to show that he was listening, even as he began to remove his horse’s harness. A moment of silence blossomed between them while they worked to free the horses, with a couple of lingering stares sprinkled in between actions. Once the harnesses were hung and the horses fed and watered, Andrew gave his horse a gentle pat on the nose before heading out the door of the barn, brushing his now dusty hands against the itchy wool of his uniform. The duo headed over to the now roaring fire that the other men had stoked in the center of the settlement, which was appreciated now that the cold was settling in. Andrew sat between Edward and Leckie on the crisp, crunchy bed of leaves that was the forest floor, being the bridge between the two groups that were amicable for the time being, but would need constant vigil until some sort of decision was made one way or another. Though it was an unknown and unfriendly territory, K Company did a decent job of folding effortlessly into the situation; it was admirable, really, and Andrew was certain now that he had chosen the right men for the job. He was perfectly content to sit back and watch his men engage in social frivolities, or what could be considered as such during a time of brutal war that pitted the two halves of the country against itself. 

“I can place everyone but  _ you _ ,” Leckie stated, pointing at Shelton with the ever-present pencil between his forefinger and thumb, the fingers of his other hand busy flipping through pages in his journal. Andrew couldn’t be too sure what Leckie scribbled about in the book, but he would assume currently that he was taking notes. Or doodling arbitrarily--and who was he to judge? “The accent. It’s not slow and deep like theirs, it’s less patient. Where are you from?” The ‘theirs’ in the situation being Sledge and Phillips, who he also threatened with blunt lead. 

Shelton, for all he was worth, emanated a thick layer of bemusement and apathy as he spit a clump of chewing tobacco from the corner of his mouth. “Ya probably curious as to why a black man is runnin’ ‘round with crackers and hicks. It surprised me too, knowin’ that not all y’all wanted to hang me on the spot jus’ ‘cause the color of my skin.” Andrew shifted uncomfortably, a hand lifting so his fingertips could scratch at the growing stubble that lined his jaw. He was very much against the racist undertones that their country was built upon, but to hear the horrors of it from the mouth of someone who experienced it? The uncomfortable truth of it all was hitting him at three hundred miles per hour, like a locomotive slapped him across the face. 

“‘m from Louisiana, the bayou. The accent’s usually called Cajun, but ‘m Creole, so they tell me. My Ma was the daughter of a plantation owner, my father, a slave. They ran away with me ‘n my sister when we were young. Didn’t get very far.” Shelton spit another glob of tobacco from his mouth--usually, he wasn’t too keen on oversharing, but throwing a bucket of cold water (aka reality) onto these Yankees was more appeal than hiding trauma that had haunted him for most of his life, a product of being brought into a world that hated ‘others’. “They brought us to Bayou Chene, to be protected by distant family. We were alright, for a while. Then, the Slave Catchers caught up to us. Slung my Dad over a tree branch for his insolence, tried to drag my Ma back home. She told us to run before she managed to wrangle one of their guns and shot herself in the head. Our Aunt and Uncle took us deeper into the swamp, farther than the Slave Catchers were willing to go. Jade’s still with ‘em, I hear they’re in Mississippi now. I send them whatever I can and I’ll return to ‘em when our work is done here.” 

Merriell’s retelling of generational trauma had all of K Company shocked into silence, especially Andrew who appeared to be holding back tears. It was a harsh reminder of what they were fighting for, being part of the Union. Of why they had to continue fighting unless actions like this were to prevail the test of time. Leckie was the only one who was put together enough to reply. He’d quit his scribbling long enough to meet Shelton’s gaze, calm, cool, and with a measured expression. 

“My family came over from Ireland, I was too young to remember. I was the youngest of eight children, five of whom died on the way over. My older brother died in a factory accident and my older sister caught Consumption and couldn’t shake it--it nearly killed me, too, though my parents like to forget that. Last is least…” Leckie sniffed, brushing his fingertips against the pages of his journal, smudging lead against his skin. “I know every day they wish that I was the one to die so that my sister lived; couldn’t take the disappointment or their judgment. Aside from doing the right thing, joining the Army allowed me some semblance of peace. Haven’t felt truly alive before now.” 

Andrew hadn’t known about Leckie’s family, and he’d like to chalk it up to the fact that he was a superior, but he hadn’t always been. The truth of the matter was that Andrew tended to distance himself from people so that he wouldn’t miss them when they left or died. An inevitability that kept even the best of officers from being as personable as they might like. He also had a hard time opening up about the reality of his familial situation--at least the lack of information went both ways, until now. 

After a little more oversharing and the literal breaking of bread to accompany it, K Company was directed to a portion of the plot wherein they could set up their tents and bedrolls. Though in technicality, Andrew was supposed to have a tent all to his own because of his station, he often rotated through his men and allowed one to sleep with him at night, different by the day. Tonight was Leckie, who rested with his back against his unfurled bedroll, scribbling away in his journal as though his life depended on it. It wasn’t abnormal for the man to be up by candlelight, but it was partially keeping Andrew awake. Or, at the least, he could pretend that that was the cause of his sleeplessness. 

“What are you always writing about? In your journal?” Andrew finally asked, shifting around so that he could crack an eye open and peer at his subordinate through the darkness. “Whenever you have a spare moment, I’ve noticed, it’s something of a crutch that you lean on.” 

Leckie let out a huff of a laugh, a self-deprecating smile quirking his lips upward. “Noticed that, huh, Cap?” He paused his motions for a moment, gaze seemingly a thousand miles away. “Depends. Thoughts, observations. Taking note for the later generations. Letters I’ll never send. Occasionally prose or poetry, if I’m feeling particularly creative. I may not be a learned man like you, but I’ve read enough to appreciate the art of language and its intentions.” 

That was a bit of a backhanded comment, but Andrew was used to Leckie’s sharp tongue. It was a defense mechanism, and he could appreciate that much. “Didn’t intend to offend, Leckie. Just curious--at least now I know a book could be written about our miscalculated adventures. From the Battle of Ball's Bluff to Appalachia--what a journey this company has been on.” Andrew had no idea that this was what enlisting would be like, but he was grateful to be away from home and expectations again. It was like...a far more dangerous version of university. 

“That it has been, Sir.” Leckie laughed a dry, dark thing, licking his forefinger and thumb to douse the candle that sat precariously beside him. “Try and get some sleep, Captain. We’re going to need it if we’re to go home empty-handed tomorrow.” 

“You too, Private.” Andrew rolled over onto his other side again so that his back was to his companion. The only person he couldn’t hide his disappointment from was himself--he truly hoped that he’d be able to think of some way to convince Edward in the morning to see things from his perspective, despite his unyielding stubbornness. To go home now with nothing to show for it would be the ultimate failure, and then Andrew wouldn’t be more than what his father and mother saw him as, which just wouldn’t do. 

Andrew awoke to gentle sunlight poking through the flaps of the tent and an ache in his back--being on the road, lacking even the shitty cot that he’d been given on campaign was not doing wonders for posture. Scrubbing his eyes with the heel of his palms, Andrew inhaled deeply before he prepared for the day, rotating through arguments in the back of his mind. Once he exited the tent (without packing up--Andrew was hopeful if nothing else), he approached Edward, who was in the process of hooking up the horses to the cart once more. Color Andrew curious. “Where are you headed?” 

Edward glanced down at his company with a little smirk, shaking his head. He couldn’t get rid of this Yankee, could he? Stuck on the bottom of his shoe like horse shit. “Bringin’ families back their belongin’s. I’m guessin’ ya want ta join me.” 

Andrew blushed at the implication but nodded, waiting for Edward to climb aboard the cart before joining him, once again sitting impossibly close on a seat made for one. Edward gave direction to Burgin, though Andrew was too busy inspecting Edward’s features to listen, and without further ado, the duo was descending the mountainside, which was thankfully a quicker process than ascension was, as the weight shifted for the horses. “So, who exactly took civilian’s belongings, since I’m assuming it wasn’t you?” 

Edward barked out a sharp laugh, “‘course it weren’t me. Nah, this fella named Mackenzie, a real pus-gutted blowhard, he thinks himself special because he’s a Lieutenant in the Confederacy now. Son of a plantation owner, a real piece of work. We stopped him and his men on the road out of town yesterday, told him what for before reclaiming this cart.” 

“Why would he steal things from people? Doesn’t a soldier have better things to do than thievery?” 

Edward gave Andrew an incredulous look. “I s’pose that’s how you’d think, being a soldier yerself. However, the Confederacy ain’t as well prepared for warfare as y’all up north. Not enough men, supplies, nor rations neither. Plantation owners refuse to plant anythin’ aside from cotton ‘cause it’s the moneymaker crop. Confederates resort to stealin’ from us poor folk, callin’ it taxes, took ten percent before they started takin’ it all. Even still they don’t have enough to feed the men. Gettin’ desperate, I guess. Just followin’ orders, fuckin’ over those that have little or nothin’ instead of turnin’ to those that hold the most wealth.” 

Andrew and Edward sat in silence for minutes, time dragging on and on as Andrew attempted to think of something, anything to say to express just how horrible he knew this to be and how much he wished he could help. Truth was, nothing would help the civilians aside from what Edward and the other mountain men were doing, and in that realization, he knew that he could never lure him and the other men to join the Union. It wasn’t right to try and do so, even if it was what he was ordered to do by General Hayes. The people of West Virginia, and surely other states, needed vigilantes like Edward Jones for protection. Who would fight for them if it weren’t the government that was supposed to protect them? Even though West Virginia was part of the Union, it had been left to its own devices for the most part and was frequently ransacked by the opposition without care or attention from its country. What Jones was doing was not only necessary, but incredibly brave, and Andrew couldn’t help but admire that. 

Before Andrew could say such on the matter, their attention was drawn to a cloud of smoke in the distance, billowing large and dark and imposing onto the horizon, damn near blocking out the sun. Andrew’s brows furrowed and Edward urged the horses on, cursing under his breath. 

By the time that the duo reached the town, it was too late for them to do anything. The sacking of Sutton, West Virginia must’ve occurred sometime during the night--the town was, as it had been years before, burned to the ground. Nothing remained but the crisp carcasses of what had been buildings. Edward cursed again, but continued down the road, past the wreckage, past people sobbing or trying to pick the pieces of their lives from the ashes. It was only a few minutes ride, and Andrew didn’t know what they were looking for and was too terrified to speak when he knew that what he might say could set off the normally stoic man beside him. However, the cart stopped beside what Andrew could only assume used to be a farm, and Edward hopped out and took long strides toward a lone woman who was in the process of bundling up two small children in a fleece blanket, tears streaking her soot-covered features. She looked eerily similar to Edward, so Andrew could only assume that this was his mother on his cautious approach, keeping a bit of distance between himself and the family. 

“What the hell happened?” Edward questioned through gritted teeth, hands clenched into fists at his sides. 

“Mackenzie and his men came early in the mornin’, took what little we had left, and held us back while they burned the house down. He took Clara and George, Eddie. I don’t know what he’s goin’ to do wit’ ‘em.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, i avoid racist slang being directed towards characters of color, no i will not do the same toward white folk (unless it's particularly horrendous and not based on skin tone). if anyone comes at me for using the words 'cracker' and 'hick'...we will have beef. 
> 
> this is me acknowledging the fact that rami malek is of eyptian/greek descent. for this fic, feel free to cast someone else as the fc for merriell in your mind's eye because the character is intended to be creole / cajun due to the actual person he is based on. i know rami malek isn't, I'm aware of this and i am acknowledging the color washing of the casting department here.
> 
> i ... absolutely forgot how close Buffalo Creek and Sutton were and I'm a fool, an absolute moron because I made it seem like Eddie was hiking forever in the beginning of the story and quite simply...it's a ten minute ride and about a two hour walk. lmao anyway....let's just ignore that and take it at face value, everyone pls ignore my stupidity. ;)


	5. gluttony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is...incredibly heavy. trigger warning for sex slavery (hints), lynching, and death.

Turns out that Lieutenant Robert Mackenzie was hard to find when he did not wish to be found. The man and his company of thieves and murderers disappeared into thin air, uncaring of the wreckage that they left in their wake, the damage that they’d done to the people that they were supposed to be protecting. Edward tended to anger at the drop of the hat, but he didn’t think he’d even been so mad in his life--he’d never wanted to kill someone, didn’t enjoy hurting other people. That was just something that was a necessity upon occasion. However, because of his actions, Edward sought not only to take revenge on Mackenzie for the wrongdoings toward himself, but now for his family, who had been the ultimate party of neutrality, and the people of Sutton who’d already lost everything not even two years prior. Rebuilding was hell; this time, he would not be replacing what was lost but instead turning toward those that had caused the grievances. 

Though the mountain men had initially turned a cold shoulder to the Yankees with enough gumption and moxie to take on the Confederate Army all on their lonesome, the days that followed were calm waters soothed by the growing companionship between the two groups. Edward didn’t have the strength in him to send the Union soldiers packing, not when they’d begun to help around camp and had proven that their intentions were not solely of their government. Andrew and his men were here as friends and he was in no position to turn down aid in whatever form that it’d been granted. 

A week passed before Edward got any news about the whereabouts of Mackenzie, and hopefully, that of his siblings. Burgin and Leyden came back from town with a pair of grim expressions, a paper crumpled tight in Burgie’s fist. 

“Mackenzie’s finally back. Throwin’ a party at his family’s plantation, invitin’ all the prominent folk in Virginia, military men. Apparently, there will be some kinda auction, a spectacle. Theodore didn’t know the exact situation, but he’d overheard soldiers talkin’ ‘bout it. It ain’t sound good, Eddie, but I’d guess he brought Clara and George there.” 

“Hidin’ out for the perfect opportunity. He knows we’ve been after him.” Mackenzie was an expert in playing games and he was sure to want to retaliate for what Edward had done to embarrass him when taking back the cart of stuff that did not belong to him. Edward set his jaw and shook his head, staring thoughtfully into the surrounding trees for a moment. “We’ve got uniforms, we can sneak ourselves in. Mackenzie would only recognize me, so as long as we avoid him we’ll be in the clear.” 

“We’ve only got  _ three _ uniforms,” Shelton spoke, even though no one had known he’d been present for the conversation. Sometimes it felt as though Merriell appeared from the void itself. 

“Alright,” Edward clicked his tongue against the uneven wall of his teeth, “Shelton and Phillips are comin’. Phillips will know important people to avoid. Andrew, you and Leckie can come, too. Maybe y’all can glean some information for General Sherman.” Edward was loath to admit that perhaps he had grown fond of the Yankee and felt an odd sort of anxiety being separated from his soothing presence. 

Andrew nodded in acquiesce, motioning for Leckie to join the group so they could properly plan and plot what was to occur with another thoughtful planner in their midst. 

“My Pa is rollin’ in his grave seein’ me wear this getup,” Shelton tugged at the ill-fitting clothes on his person--he’d be masquerading as one of Leckie’s workers, and though both were uncomfortable with the idea, one must do whatever they could to blend into the society they were to infiltrate. 

“I’m sure mine wouldn’t be too happy with me either,” Andrew mused, tugging on the collar of the jacket Edward had stolen from Mackenzie, not a fortnight prior. “Never thought I’d miss my itchy blues.” 

Edward wasn’t too keen on donning the traitor’s garb himself, but he’d do just about anything, including burning the entire world down, if it would be necessary to save his siblings. “We're all clear on what we’re doin’?” 

“Yes, Sir. Me ‘nd Leckie will be floating through the crowd, you and Andy will be lookin’ for Clara and George.” Phillips could be annoying, at times, with his ardent and fervor of kindness that emanated from his very center, but he was a good man and he followed directions to the letter. He was clothed in the dress of a food server in the hopes that people who may know him would be less likely to pay attention to his presence if he were something as lowly as the help. 

“‘nd I will find out if any of the house slaves know anythin’ of use,” Shelton added, embittered by the truth of the deep roots of racism ensnaring the South. 

“Good. We’re almost there--Yankees, remember to keep yer traps shut. If anyone asks, y’all are from Maryland.” Edward directed. They’d acquired a carriage from friends in Sutton township to look the part upon arriving at the Mackenzie estate. Burgin and De L’Eau were driving the carriage and knew to wait not too far away, in case they needed to make a quick getaway. Edward inhaled sharply, fingernails digging into the thick fabric of his pants, anxious to be wrapped around the throat of someone who most deserved to die. A hand fell to his shoulder and squeezed in what Edward could only assume was an attempt to comfort him, and he gave a weak, not very reassuring smile to the man behind the hand. He didn’t like pity, but he could handle Andrew’s empathic gaze. 

The horse slowed and a quiet whistle could be heard in the dread-filled silence of the cabin, though Edward did not brush off Andrew’s hand, not until he had to climb out of the carriage, nodding his head to Phillips and strolling through the lawn toward the double doors that were thrown open, elated laughter floating through the night air. Andrew was a steady presence at his side, grounding him and keeping him from flying off the fucking handle, heading straight for Mackenize and bashing his skull into the fucking wall.  _ Inhale, exhale _ , Jones. 

Edward was about to play the part of a fun-loving party guest, and he wasn’t particularly good at acting. Shoulders set, he forced a smile onto his face, and if the snickering from Andrew was any indication, it wasn’t the best mimic of a friendly, sociable man. Edward’s gaze toured the ground floor, filled to the brim with Southern socialites that he’d be pressed to put a name to, and found the line of the staircase. He made a beeline up the stairs with the confidence of a man possessed, Andrew hot on his heels. 

Leckie and Phillips circled the mass of guests downstairs once Sidney had collected a serving platter from the kitchen, Robert plucking up a glass of whiskey so he could mime thoughtful contemplation instead of ardently listening to the conversations of those around them. “Whatever this auction is, it isn’t about prized artifacts,” Leckie murmured into his alcohol, arching a brow at his companion. 

“What d’ya think it is?” Phillips questioned, nodding politely and smiling as a man took an hors d'oeuvre from his platter. 

“Sounds like people. Well, a person. A woman.” Leckie shifted his gaze to the man speaking behind him, so passionately orating about the offering that was to be sold in the drawing-room. “She’s pure, chaste. Apparently, it’s hard to get your hands on a woman like that when you’re out in the field.” A shiver ran down Leckie’s spine and he frowned behind his glass, perturbed at how any person could talk about someone as though they were only an object. “Couldn’t hurt to check it out. Meet you in the drawing-room?” 

Phillips nodded in reply and headed toward the kitchen to collect another dish to serve, gaze on the floor to avoid any unwanted eye contact and thus recognition. While in the kitchen, he relayed the message to Shelton, who was leaned ever so casually against a countertop, hip cocked, as he questioned those around him. “You ain’t pullin’ my leg? They have a boy tied up in the barn out there?” 

The woman Shelton was speaking to shook her head, brows furrowed as she poured wine into ornate glasses. “Nah, Rachel told me she heard ‘im screaming for help before they stuffed a rag into his mouth. He’s all tied up like a hog, left in a stall.” 

“‘nd he’s white? This ain’t no slave boy in there?” 

“White as snow, swear on God. Don’t know what they doin’ with ‘im, but it ain’t nothin’ good, fo’ sure.” 

Edward and Andrew made their way carefully through the upstairs of the plantation house, creaking of their brogans against the hardwood be damned. They took a quick look through each of the rooms on one wing before they saw candlelight through a cracked doorway in the other wing. They approached cautiously, Edward resting his back against the wall and tilting his ear toward the opening. 

“The girl’s downstairs?” This was a voice that Edward did not know, but would assume was the Master of the house. 

“Yes, Sir. They’re sellin’ her in the Drawing Room as we speak. Might fetch a pretty penny for her, make all the trouble worth it.” Mackenzie. The sound of his voice made Edward’s blood boil so hot he couldn’t even pay attention to the words, hands tightening into fists at his sides. 

“‘nd the boy?” 

“In the barn. We’re all set up. Just waiting for a lull so it can be done at a peak time to entertain. Almost like a picnic.” 

“Almost. Head on down. Can’t keep your guests waitin’.” 

“Yes, Sir.” Edward was frozen on the spot, face so heated it felt like he’d been out in the sun for hours. Andrew grabbed his elbow, wrenching him away from the doorway and toward the staircase as quickly yet quietly as they could. They would not be caught now, not when they were so close to their goal. 

“We’ve got real prime stock here, gentlemen. She may be a country bumpkin, but she’s got a sweet temperament and nice, wide birthin’ hips. Pure and fresh as the Virgin Mary herself, let me introduce you to  _ Chloe _ .” The announcer stepped back from center stage to give room to a massive man carrying a struggling woman with a sack tucked over her head. The crowd fell hush before murmurs erupted throughout the room, and Leckie found himself sick in the knowledge that they were  _ interested _ . 

“That must be Clara,” Phillips muttered behind him, plate held in a stiff grip. The burlap was torn from the young woman’s head and yes, she certainly had a similarity to Edward that could not be denied. Tears streaked her cheeks and a wide, terrified gaze set about the room, seeking aid with no help to be found. Leckie had to look away from the sight, meeting Phillip’s eyes. “You go find Jones, I’ll figure out who’s buying her and keep an eye. Go.  _ Hurry _ .” 

Sidney nodded and exited the room, leaving Leckie with a pit in his stomach as the number thrown out for this girl climbed higher with each new challenger bid. 

Shelton and Phillips met Edward and Andrew at the same time and the quartet moved to a quiet hallway to divulge information away from prying eyes. 

“They’re sellin’ your sister like she’s livestock in the Drawing Room. Leckie’s still there waitin’ for the winner to be announced.” Sidney blurted, cheeks reddened with the pressure of it all. 

“‘nd yer brother is tied up in the barn. Don’t know what they’re gonna do with ‘im.” Shelton added. 

Here was a moment of truth, wherein Edward had to choose between the safety of his sister or of his brother, both of who were in danger if the conversation upstairs had any meaning behind it. However, Clara’s safety was in immediate danger because Edward would bet as soon as she was bought, the man who’d snatched her up would be off into the night before they could make plans to follow them. George could wait, at least for the moment. His mind was made up as he spotted Leckie shoving through the crowd to get to them, and they met up halfway. 

“Some fella named Larkin got her for one hundred dollars. They’re already on their way outside.” Leckie nodded toward the doorway and the group made their way through, attempting to be as casual as they could in their exit, despite the urgency. It was easy to spot Larkin and the large man carrying a squirming woman, and they wasted no time in getting to him. Edward swung and hit the man directly in the face and he fell to the ground, while Andrew and Shelton laid into Larkin. Edward continued to beat the large man until he was a bloody, moaning mess in the dirt, blood splattering every visible inch of skin. 

Once Edward was certain that he would not get up again anytime soon, he stood only to find that Clara was already freed from her bondage and flung herself into his arms, tears wetting the side of his neck. He ran a hand through her hair, murmuring soft assurances in a deep, smooth tone until she had calmed, sobs giving way to hiccups giving way to sniffles. 

“I can’t thank ye enough, Eddie. I was so scared. I thought--” Clara began, only for Edward to interrupt. 

“No need to thank us. I’m supposed to protect ya--only wish I could’ve stopped this in the first place. Now c’mon. We’ve gotta go get George.” Clara nodded and took her older brother’s hand as the group rounded the house and continued down the dirt path behind it, toward the slave quarters. It wasn’t hard to figure out where George was--a floundering body swinging from a tree with a large sign tacked beside it was easy to spot. Edward let go of Clara’s hand and ran forward, ignoring the blood-red lettering proclaiming ‘ **TRAITORS BEWARE** ’ and looking for any means to get George down from the noose while he still had enough life to gasp and wheeze as he was. 

Leckie grabbed a nearby ladder and threw it against the stump while Edward climbed, heart in his throat as he pulled his knife from its holster and sawed at the noose, hands shaking so damn hard it’d taken longer than it should have to complete the task. Andrew was waiting below George and caught him as he fell from the branch, cradling him to his chest before slowly lowering him to the ground. 

It was clear that George’s neck had already broken, if the unnatural angle of the bone was any indication, sharp edge cut through soft skin with crimson splotched in sickening designs. The boy gasped, struggling for air as wide eyes took in his older brother, Clara quickly joining Edward at his side, tears returned to her stormy eyes. “The very warmth from my blood seems stolen away,” She murmured, lifting one of George’s hands to her lips, pressing a kiss to the clammy skin. “Georgie…” 

George choked as blood made its way down his throat, coating the column with the thick fluid of life. Instead of replying to his sister, he looked toward Edward, fear evident in his gaze. “Eddie...I’m scared.” He rasped as the color drained from his features leaving behind the pale pallor of death. 

Edward ran a hand through the boy’s tangled and hay covered hair, tears burning at the edges of his eyes. “Don’t be, George. You lived with honor. You will die with it.” 

George swallowed, gaze lifting heavenward for a moment before returning to Edward’s, distant and dark. “You’ll stay with me, won’t ya, Eddie?” 

“I won’t leave yer side,” Edward vowed, leaning down to press a kiss to George’s forehead, tears splattering on his dirty skin. It was a long painful set of minutes as Edward and Clara looked down at their dying brother, watching over him as Death took its course, and with one last, shuddering breath, the boy was gone. George looked so much like their father at that moment--he was younger, of course, but after the initial fear he appeared unafraid of the uncertainty he was facing, soothed by the presence of those that he loved and loved him in return. 

Edward jammed his eyes shut, willing the image away, hoping that when he reopened them, George would no longer be lying there, unmoving. To no avail--that same cold gaze stared back at him and Edward was forced to hold in a painful, wrenching sob. 

“Edward, we have to go,” Andrew murmured, trying to be as soft and soothing as possible while time was of the essence. It wouldn’t be too long before party-goers found the mess that they’d left on the front lawn and put two and two together--the group had to leave or they’d be strung up just the same as George. Now was not the time for revenge, it was the time for recuperating and celebrating the small victory that they had in rescuing Clara, even if the same couldn’t be said for George. Edward nodded, looking away from Andrew as he wiped the tears from his face, unable to speak out of fear that all that would leave his mouth was a pained noise. 

“Phillips, go run ahead and collect the boys and the carriage. We need to get out of here, fast. We’ll meet you out front.” Andrew directed before returning his attention to Edward. He spoke in a soft tone. “Do you want me to carry him?” 

“Nah, I got ‘im,” Edward replied, voice cracking. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand once more for good measure before carefully wrapping an arm under George’s knees and his shoulders, kneeling before standing so he could better accommodate the weight of his brother in his arms. Clara and Andrew were constants at his side as the solemn parade made their way to the front of the plantation house, Edward’s eyes straight forward as he focused on the task at hand.  _ Get to the carriage. Ride back to camp. Bring George home. Bury him beside Dad and the babes.  _ It seemed easier when compartmentalized like that, just as it had been when George Burnett Jones had passed. Every day was easier when he had a list of things to accomplish, every second regimented to a certain task, otherwise, he’d be left alone to his thoughts and would buckle and crumble when he tried to remain strong like his father had wanted him to. Edward could handle this. He had to so that Mom and the kids could fall apart. There was no weight in the world that was too heavy a burden for Edward Jones’ shoulders, nothing that he couldn’t get through if it meant the betterment of his family. 

Edward climbed into the carriage numbly, lying back with George’s cold face tucked into his neck, pulled close to him, as if he could shield him from the horrors of the world, even now. Even though he’d failed to do so in the first place. The only reason that Mackenzie had stolen his siblings was because of him and what he’d done, ergo, the only reason that George was dead was because of Eddie. George wouldn’t grow up and make a life of his own all because Edward’s pride had forced him to taunt a man that had greater means than him, that had no limits of evil in the deepest depths of his heart. 

Clara’s hand found his as the carriage started to move, her head lolling to his shoulder, likely exhausted from the ordeal that she’d been put through. Not too long after, Andrew’s fingers wrapped around his wrist, soothing the pain bubbling up the base of his throat, threatening to escape. Edward didn’t say anything--just stared out the window of the carriage into the pitch-black night, heart-shattering in his chest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apparently one can buy a virgin for around $3000 today, which is ~$100 at the time. i'm not sure this exact sort of thing happened this exact way, but i'm certain similar things were done among wealthy communities. 
> 
> yeah uh...this one was rough, chief. i'm still crying. if you want the full emotional effect that i had while writing, listen to the free state of jones soundtrack while reading and break down with me!


	6. wrath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i've got news! it's not good! this chapter is also incredibly heavy! warnings for more graphic descriptions of violence, death / a dead body, lynching, as well as period typical homophobia. please read at your own discretion.

Andrew had always been an empathetic person. When his little sister was upset, he was the one that she went running to, not their father, not their mother, but _Andrew_. Friends had always depended on his judgment in situations where emotions were a greater benefit than logic, and though he kept a clear and thoughtful head when it came to leadership, he led with his heart as well as his mind; Andrew could not be defined as a gentle person, but he had a warm, open beating heart laying in his chest that fought for every opportunity to be recognized. 

If he weren’t a support beam, if he weren’t the only thing keeping the operation from crumbling inwards and remaining at a standstill, Andrew would undoubtedly be in tears himself. However, he knew he had been tacked onto the mission as more than what had been proffered for previously. Edward needed support, needed someone to hold his hand and steer him forward when he’d been blinded by what was happening around them. Whether this was because Edward trusted insight from another leader or something more, Andrew could not say, but the very last thing that he intended to do was let the other man down. 

The carriage ride back to Buffalo Creek was silent, most gazes as far from Edward and the body in his arms as physically possible, though Andrew’s lingered on the pale side of George’s face, smears of blood the only color remaining on him, and the lost, numb expression of the man holding him. Andrew had a feeling that the presence of Clara and their joint movements of affection were the only thing keeping Edward from snapping at this moment and he hated that he held a sick sort of pride in being so needed like that. 

Andrew had seen, by this point in his life, many young boys die. Perhaps not as young as George had been, who couldn’t be older than fifteen, but he’d grown desensitized to death, to the blood and gore of warfare, distant and detached to be the leader that the men who depended on him needed. Though the past hour had been emotionally devastating, Andrew would remain emotionless until solitary enough to hide just how much he was affected. 

  
  


Once the carriage arrived back at camp, everyone filed out of the cabin aside from Andrew, Edward, and Clara, who somehow still managed to be fast asleep. Edward admired her ability to avoid the pain of reality by embracing the favored curtain of sleep. His gaze, blurred by tears, met Andrew’s, and Edward was unsure if he would even be able to stand without his legs crumpling beneath him. “We need ta go home.” was all that he could manage, though at least his tone was even. 

Andrew nodded in understanding, releasing his hold on Edward’s wrist so he could lift the sleeping Clara into his arms in one practiced and swift motion--Edward would bet that Andrew had little siblings that he took care of much the same as he had. After Andrew had stepped down from the carriage, Edward followed, George tight in his grip, cold, dead eyes hidden from the waking world. Burgin hopped down from his seat, looking between Edward, George’s back, and Andrew, seeking direction and unsure of who to turn to. 

“Take the carriage back to town. We’re bringing Clara and George home.” Andrew took pity on the young man, speaking as quietly as he could so he wouldn’t wake the sleeping girl. He nodded to get Leckie’s attention; his second approached cautiously, rolling his pencil between his fingertips as he looked at Andrew expectantly. “You’re in charge until Burgie comes back. Keep the boys safe, Lucky.” 

Leckie bowed his head to acknowledge the responsibility placed on his shoulders while Andrew and Edward headed down to the barn to hitch up the stolen cart and head back into Sutton themselves. Andrew lay Clara in the back of the cart as carefully as he could so he could do what needed to be done, certain that there was nothing in the world that could convince Edward to put George down now. 

The journey to Edward’s home held no conversation, and luckily, Andrew had a good sort of memory for directions, so he had no trouble going the right way while Edward’s mind wandered. The mountain man had removed his jacket without fear of the cold and wrapped his brother in it, uncaring if the traitor’s clothes were dirtied by blood. The paternal aspect that he’d long adopted still wanted to protect his kin, no matter the condition they were in. Andrew had wrapped Clara in Mackenzie’s coat before they’d set off, wanting her to find peace in whatever way she could so she could be on her way to forgetting what happened to her. 

Reba was waiting on the porch for Edward, leaning against the railing with a shawl wrapped tight around her shoulders and held in an iron, anxious grip. “Eddie?” Her voice cracked as she descended the stairs and took the precious few steps forward to meet them, “Roger told me y’all returned tha carriage. Is that--” Her hand shook as she reached for George, tears already flowing freely. 

Edward swallowed hard around the lump in his throat, shifting the weight of the body in his arms, reluctant to inform his mother that he’d failed her. “Clara’s asleep, she’s in the cart. Ma--” Edward had to inhale to keep himself from shattering, to be able to relay the truth of what had occurred. “I’m sorry, Ma, we didn’t get to George in time. He’s--he didn’t make it.” 

Reba’s palm flew to her mouth to repress her sobs so she wouldn’t wake any of the sleeping children, hot tears rushing past the floodgate and spilling down her cheeks. She murmured something that neither man caught, before speaking audibly. “Georgie? Oh, Georgie…” The hand that had paused midair landed finally on George’s still back, as though she could still offer her little boy some amount of comfort in his time of need. “My poor baby, my sweet boy,” Reba murmured, rubbing soothing circles along George’s spine through his flesh had long gone cold. 

“C’mon, Ma. We’ve gotta bury him. He’ll have a nice spot between Dad and Ralph and Mary Jo.” Edward took his mother’s hand, leading her behind their home to the small plot of land where their dead lay peaceful in their forever slumbers. While Edward did this, Andrew took Clara into his arms again and brought her inside the farmhouse, deducing which bed was hers, setting her down beside her sister. He replaced the jacket of the murderer with a blanket before following in Edward’s footsteps. 

“Ya wanna hold ‘im?” Edward offered George to his mother, reluctant to reintroduce his brother to the earth sooner than necessary. Reba nodded and sat on the ground, taking the weight of her son with no complaint, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, fingers running through the nest of hair on the top of his head. Once Andrew had returned, shovels in hand, the duo moved to the plot beside Edward’s father and began their task. 

It was hard, exhausting work on top of an already horrific evening, but it had to be done and Edward was thankful for any sort of distraction, the easiest, of course, being physical labor. Sweat leaked from every pore available, drenching the men within minutes thanks to the heated summer air that seemed to cling onto them even as the season died. Once it was determined that the hole was deep enough, Edward gestured for Andrew to follow him into the house. He kept his voice quiet when he spoke, not wanting to wake the children yet. “There're a few mirrors in tha house. Ya gotta cover them. There’s a box of shrouds in Ma’s room. Don’t use tha white one.” Andrew nodded to indicate he understood the task he was given before Edward continued, “Ya know how to carve wood?” He nodded again. “ There’s wood and tools out back. Carve it with George K Jones. He was born in forty-nine.” Andrew set about to begin the tasks he was given, leaving Edward to the arduous process ahead of him. He wouldn’t allow his mother to do all of it alone. 

Edward had never been a particularly religious person and had long believed that God had abandoned him, but Reba was, so he would do everything per what was expected, for her and the kids. He took one of the candles from the box of shrouds that Andrew had discovered and placed it on the mantle, lighting it with a card book of matches. Edward stared at the flame for a moment, heart stiff as stone in his chest, before he set about gathering water from the well. The tub in the washroom was filled, and a bucket full of water was left beside the table. A handful of rags was collected and placed, as well a set of white linen clothing which Edward doubted would fit George yet, and his _tallit_ , after Edward tore off a corner fringe, on the table. 

Finally, Edward returned to his mother, leading her back into the house and helping her in carefully placing George on the table. Reba and Edward removed the coat that had been covering him and began their work: first, the blood on George’s neck, chest, and face was cleaned carefully, that rag shoved into the pocket of the jacket to be buried with him. Then, they washed George’s body attentively, clearing his skin of dirt and bits of hay and what Edward could only assume was bits of skin cells of his captor from underneath his fingernails. They immersed his body in the tub and replaced him on the table to dry. Once dry, Reba and Edward dressed George and wrapped him in his _tallit_ and the white shroud that Andrew left aside. Reba had been praying under her breath throughout the process, but Edward found that he couldn’t force himself to mime that particular custom, not when he was so immersed in grief and guilt. 

Edward lifted George into his arms one last time, carrying him solemnly to the prepared grave, laying him in the dirt carefully. Reba handed him the jacket, which Edward also placed in the grave before he stood back and took his mother’s hand as Andrew shoveled the dirt over George, returning him to the earth far before his time. Edward squeezed Reba’s hand, tears burning at the edges of his eyes, begging to be released, but he remained stoic, lulled into a daze by the sound of his mother’s prayers. The dirt was smoothed, Andrew stepped away to give the duo space. Edward tore the right side of his collar, while his mother ripped the left lapel of her shawl, tears rolling down her cheeks fearlessly. Finally, Reba was finished with her prayer and she let go of Edward’s hand so she could sit beside George’s grave, palm resting against the dirt mound. Edward stared at the scene, then, with a shuddering breath, headed inside to wash his hands, Andrew hot on his heels. 

“Ya can leave, ya know. Go back up home. Ya know I ain’t going to join no war.” Edward murmured to his looming shadow, gaze focused on the act of getting the blood off his hands. 

“I’m not going to leave you, not now. I’m here to help. You need me more than the Union does, than the country does. There’s more to life than duty.” Andrew replied arms crossed over his chest. 

Edward arched a brow as he dried his hands, dubious of the other man’s intentions. “Who says I need ya help?” 

Abstinent to the end, Andrew supposed. He sighed, eyes such a deep, reverent blue that it felt as though he could see all the way through Edward to his very soul. “Your sister was almost sold to a man and your brother was murdered. Am I to think that you’re going to do anything other than seek revenge on Mackenzie for what he’s done? I’m no fool, Edward. I’m going to be at your side to see this through to the end.” 

“What has inspired such loyalty to me? Ya don’t even know me, Andrew.” Edward argued, brows furrowed. 

Andrew stared at him for a long moment, sending heat coursing through his blood, before he responded. “I’m not sure, but you can’t do this alone. It’ll destroy you, or Mackenzie will kill you. I’ll make sure you have an even match.” 

“He’s not divine, he’s flesh and blood like you and me,” Edward replied, certain that if Mackenzie was not allowed any dirty tricks, he’d be no match for the brooding giant. “I trust ya, Andrew. Ya betray me and I’ll shoot you dead on the spot. Understand?” 

Andrew nodded and Edward walked out the front door, knowing that Andrew would follow him. 

  
  


“Who were the others? Buried beside George?” Andrew asked as he and Edward journeyed out to Mackenzie’s plantation once more, each armed with a rifle and sidearm. 

“Ralph ‘nd Mary Jo are my siblings, who died young. Just kids. Mary Jo drowned ‘nd Ralph got sick. George is my father, he--'' Edward pursed his lips, miles away. “Near two years ago now, Confederate soldiers burned the downtown to retaliate against Union forces residing there,” Edward could remember it just as clearly as if it happened yesterday. 

The smoke had been visible from the house, the sky almost entirely black as though it was the dead of night even though it hadn’t been past midday. Reba instructed Edward to go into town to check on his father, who had gone to the grocers. Edward did as he was asked and was horrified by what he found waiting for him--the township was engulfed in flame, the heat and smoke overwhelming, suffocating the young man who could only cough and cover his mouth and nose with his thin shirt, salvia soon coating the once dry fabric. Edward had shouted for his father, eyes narrowed as he tried to locate the grocer amidst the smoke, and jumped at the sound of gunshots. He had run in the direction of them, seeking out the only sign of life only to stumble upon the bodies of people he knew and two soldiers with smoking rifles--one, Edward did not know, the other, Mackenzie, neither of who seemed at all bothered by the fact that they’d just shot innocent people in cold blood. Edward rolled the bodies over, praying to God that his father wasn’t among the dead. His prayers went unanswered. The last person rolled over was George Jones, a bullet hole through his head. Edward’s hands curled into fists at his sides and he looked at the soldiers, gaze stormy and molten. 

“What tha hell happened?” He had questioned, most deservedly. 

“We were just followin’ orders,” Mackenzie replied, tone lacking any sort of remorse that would be wholly appropriate at the time. 

“Who’s orders? Who told ya ta shoot innocent civilians?” Edward continued, tearing off a piece of his shirt to soak up what little of his father’s blood that he could gather from the ground. 

“None of yer business, Jones. Ya lucky I don’t shoot ya. Any civilians deemed dangerous can be shot. Let tha stand as a threat.” Edward wanted to spit at Mackenzie, wanted him to turn around and shoot him like he’d warned, to prove the viscosity of Robert’s actions, to damn him wholly and completely as the demon that he was. However, he was left without the chance as Mackenzie and his lackey left him kneeling over George’s body. 

“I never found out why, but they shot my father and a coupla other civilians. Mackenzie did, at that. That man has had it out fer me fer as long as I can remember. He’s done too much damage. He needs to be put down before he hurts anyone else.” Edward murmured, fingers tightening on the reins. 

“Mackenzie murdered a child, and there’s no sort of redeeming that can be done when you do something like that,” Andrew agreed, sounding as though he spoke from experience. Interesting. “I didn’t know you were Jewish.” 

Edward glanced over at Andrew curiously, “Didn't think it mattered. God and I ain't haven't been on good terms.” Since his string of bad luck had begun, in fact. “Ma wanted a proper burial regardless, fer George to be given respect.” Which wasn't an issue for Edward. After all, he’d been given plenty of experience with proper burials when having to deal with the death of his father and later, his siblings. “How did ya know?” 

“Your mother was speaking Hebrew,” Andrew replied, “I learned it in school. Plus, there’s a lot of Jewish folk around where I live.” 

“Must be very liberal in Massachusetts. We try to hide it, scared of how people will react. They notice we don’t go to church but most of ‘em are too scared of me to question Ma about it.” Edward set his jaw. “Folks ain’t exactly welcomin’ around here, not when people like Mackenzie exist. He and his father have been fear mongerin’ this town way before tha war started. The rich ain’t have nothin’ to lose like us, not when they’re in charge of everythin’.” 

“They’ve got their lives to lose,” Andrew stated, tone grim. “That’s the worst thing of all.” 

Edward grunted, growing stony as Mackenzie’s mansion loomed on the horizon, perfectly calm and untouched as though horrific things hadn’t been going on behind closed doors and on the very lawn of the property. The very thought that his brother’s death possibly being a spectacle to amuse traitors only urged him on, teeth sinking into the thick of his tongue, drawing blood which flowed freely down his throat, a bitter, metallic reminder of what George had tasted before he drew his final breath. As the duo grew closer to the plantation, Edward spotted a man on horseback hightailing it out of the yard and into the treeline--it had to be Mackenzie. He was not a fool, he’d know that Edward was coming for him. The only mistake had been that he’d thought that Edward would take some time to mourn, and would be able to focus on anything aside from the burning rage that had begun to boil low and hot in the pit of his stomach. 

Edward spurred the horses forward, faster, harder, quickly approaching the enemy despite the creatures being weighed down by twice the bodies and the cart hitched to them. Mackenzie’s second mistake had been running into the forest--the forest, the mountains, all places overgrown, unkempt and unloved by man were Edward’s home, what he knew more intimately than he knew himself. Where Robert may get lost, Edward would not and it didn’t take much for them to catch up. When they were close enough, Edward handed Andrew the reins and stood up on the still moving cart before he jumped from the driver’s seat and tackled Robert Mackenzie from his horse, slamming hard into the ground, skidding to a stop among the brush of the forest floor. A sharp branch was stuck painfully between two ribs and Edward could feel the blood soaking his blouse but chose to ignore it as he grabbed Mackenzie’s collar in his fists, fiery gaze melting the man who’d surely bashed his skull into the ground upon landing. 

Edward spit blood that had dripped from his likely broken nose into his mouth in Mackenzie’s face, splattering his pale features with crimson. Then, he raised his fist and lay punch after punch into the Lieutenant, smashing into him until he could hear bones cracking underneath his fist and the once pretty features were unrecognizable. 

“Ya think it’s okay to sell young women like they’re meat? To hang a child until his neck breaks?” Edward snarled, eyeballs so coated in the blood that his vision was red. 

Mackenzie only laughed, the pathetic, wheezing thing that it was. “Ya act like we don’t treat blacks like that. Ya ain’t no better than a slave, Jones.” 

“Ya got that right, I ain’t no better than any other person. Ya just ain’t a person, Mackenzie. You’re a demon, a feral animal. I need to put ya down before more people die.” This time, when Mackenzie laughed, he coughed up more blood, coating Edward’s face further in the thick fluid. “What’s so funny, fucker?” 

“Ya really think that ya can stop it? It ain’t just me, Jones, I’m the top of the barrel. Ya can’t take on all of us just on yer lonesome. Tha Confederacy will win tha war and ya will be right on our doorstep, ready to be pillaged and to be used as we please. So will the slaves. Yer fight will amount to nothin’ but the death of ya and yer friends. Is it worth it, Jones?” 

“I will do everythin’ I can ta pull yer pile of shit out from the root and toss it to the sea. Ain’t nothin’ keepin’ men who believe in nothin’ but themselves and their own desires here on this Earth, not when I have a say in it. Ye are scum, and ya will all burn the same when we set fire to everythin’ y’all built.” 

“They’ll kill ya, Jones. Ya ain’t never been shit and ya won’t ever be worth anythin’.” Now, Mackenzie returned the spit, cackling as though he’d said something that Edward hadn’t already told himself on many occasions before. Edward wiped the blood from his mouth and nose as best he could with the back of his hand but really only smeared it around. 

“Then why’d ya kiss me, Mackenzie? If I ain’t special then why did ya fucking want me?” Edward growled, reaching for a clump of the other man’s hair and tugging on it, hard enough to rip it straight out of his scalp. Mackenzie howled, wrapping his hands around Edward’s throat with no real weight behind it, too weak to fight back as he might like to. 

“I didn’t. Who could want a disgustin’, inbred fruit like ya? I wanted somethin’ to use against ya. Couldn’t wash my mouth out quick enough.” 

“‘nd my Pa? Why’d ya shoot him?” 

“He got in the way. Ain’t no other way to get rid of a fuckin’ hick than to blow his brains out, they’d just keep popping back up like weeds, as you’ve done time and time again.” 

“Too bad ya couldn’t kill me, huh, Mackenzie? Too bad this fruit hick got tha best of ya” Edward bared his teeth. “Andrew! Grab tha rope from tha cart.” He’d noticed his companion’s presence sooner than he’d acknowledge it; he’d be making an incorrect assumption if he thought that Andrew would leave his side once during this debacle. 

Andrew did as he was asked, returning with the rope and handing it to Edward, who was quick to fashion a noose out of it, wrapping it around Mackenize’s neck. He struggled to stand, knees weak and injured from his fall to the ground, but Andrew was there, helping him up and leading him over to the cart. Shaky fingers tied the other end of the rope to one of the rear wheels. Andrew wrapped an arm around Edward’s waist, a steady presence as Edward limped toward the driver’s seat. Once properly situated, Andrew flicked the reins and the horses galloped their way back out of the forest, a wounded, screaming man dragged in their wake. 

They slowed as they returned to the Mackenzie plantation--Andrew hopped down and helped Edward. With the Yankee’s help, Edward hauled Mackenzie’s seizing from behind the house, to the tree that George had been hanging from not twenty-four hours before. Edward tugged the rope, ignoring the way the material scraped his palms raw, tying the end of the rope around the trunk of the tree. Andrew could not watch Mackenzie struggle, so he made do with entering the plantation house. He ushered the help out of the home before he lit any candle he could find on the lower level, knocking them to the floor and onto anything flammable before he rejoined Edward, whose red clouded vision was still staring up at Mackenzie’s swinging form. They stood there for a long moment, the sounds of flames licking up wood growing behind them, quiet murmurings as slaves approached the two men and the hanged fool. 

“C’mon, Eddie. We’ve gotta go get you fixed up.” Andrew hadn’t realized that Edward had begun to cry, could hardly tell with how his face was banged up if it weren’t for the sobs wracking his broken body. “I know. It’s over now. C’mon. I’ve got you.” 

Edward turned his back on Robert Mackenzie one last time, leaning heavily against Andrew as they retreated toward their mode of escape. The sun rose on the horizon, the start of a new day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sprinkles jewish but not religious unless his mother is involved edward jones into y'alls eyeballs* you are ... incredibly welcome. in a different timeline he'd be religious but this timeline is...too dark, man. disclaimer that I'm not Jewish so if any of the stuff mentioned is incorrect, let me know! I did research, but I'm also a fucking idiot so there's a huge possibility that i didn't understand something correctly. 
> 
> we almost done, fam! the end is in sight! what do you think will happen to our little band of misfits now that the fight is over?


	7. sloth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone who's actually read to this point in the fic, i really am grateful that anyone could be interested in this specific niche little thing that really set my soul alight and i hope the conclusion was to your satisfaction. this has been my favorite thing to write...ever, so I'm quite attached and upset to see it end. i have a few more civil war era fics up my sleeve, so stayed tuned. i will return! ;)

Andrew had never been violent before his time in the military. Even in his fits of anger, which were very rare and usually directed inward, the thought of hurting other people was not something that crossed his mind. Not before the only means of survival was to maim and kill others before they did the same to you--he supposed that that was all life had ever been like for Edward. Where he had grown up never lacking in the necessities, Edward and his family had to fight like hell for the scraps that they did receive. He’d had to grow up quickly, to take the mantle of a patriarch, had to build walls around himself to protect those that he’d loved, and Andrew was envious of none of it, in fact, he felt guilty that his self imposed restrictions were in place. Fear of what consisted of the reality of Edward’s day to day life becoming his own had stopped Andrew from living, and that was the ultimate failure. But, he was learning. 

The first consequence of this realization was to become the support system that Edward needed right now. This wasn’t Andrew’s revenge to take, only to bare witness to. If Eddie needed someone to take the reins, he took them. If Eddie needed someone to carry him, Andrew would. This wasn’t his time to lead and he would gladly follow if it meant that Edward got the results that he so desperately deserved, a conclusion that had grown to fruition after years of suffering silently. 

It had been a brutal thing to watch even if it was just, though Andrew was far more concerned with the fact that Edward had taken a bodily blow when he’d tackled Mackenzie and met the earth with him. Andrew had an arm wrapped around Edward’s waist as he led him back in the direction of the cart, hefting his taller companion into the back and laying him against the splintered wood. The previously abandoned jacket of the murdered Confederate was wrapped protectively around Edward’s torso with a lingering touch before Andrew clambered into the driver’s seat and the duo set once again toward camp, the blaze they left behind them joining together with the sunrise to light the way home. 

“You have to sit still,” Andrew instructed, pursing his lips as he struggled to keep his squirming companion subdued, eyes narrowed as he peered through the hole in Edward’s blouse at the gash on his side. “Take another swig of whiskey. This is going to hurt, a lot.” Edward glared at Andrew but did as was requested, downing a healthy amount of alcohol as Andrew began to stitch pieces of his abdomen together. Each piercing action through Edward’s skin sent an aborted, stiff, unconscious attempt to flee from the pain through his body; Andrew bit into his bottom lip to refrain from to keep the overflowing words of comfort to fall free from where they were stuck in his throat. For Edward’s part, he was taking it well, teeth gritted through the worst of it. Andrew noticed that that was how Edward reacted to most things in his life; he took the pain and gritted through it, neglecting to voice his own discomfort out of fear of upsetting his family. While Andrew had a cursory knowledge of Southern life and knew that in most cases, family came before all else, he hadn’t realized just how deeply rooted that was in the lifestyle until he met Edward. Though it was respectable and showed an infinite amount of compassion, it was also selflessness to the point of self-destruction. A person could only hold in their feelings so long before something within them catastrophically burst--in Edward’s case, it had led to a brutal, though well deserved killing of a monster of a man and the following breakdown. However, it wasn’t as though it could end with such a nicely wrapped bow every time, and Andrew was concerned for his companion’s wellbeing. 

Once Edward’s flesh was stitched together, Andrew took the bowl of water and clean rag set aside for them and squeezed out the excess fluid before wiping the blood from Edward’s body. Most of it had soaked into Edward’s white linen blouse, but the majority that remained coated a thin layer of sickly, dark crimson on his sun-kissed face. Andrew started by wiping the blood from Edward’s eyes--it was important that the rag was the cleanest, then, so as to not spread the mess worse and risk damaging his vision. Careful, gentle swipes of the rag across his eyes and his nose, which was certainly broken from the fall from the horse, Edward’s azure gaze hot on his features, as though the mysteries of the universe could be found beneath his skin. A shiver ran down Andrew’s spine, but he ignored the thoughts and flutterings in his heart that followed. He was wrapping gauze around the stitches when Edward finally spoke, voice gravelly and low. 

“Thank ye, Andy. Fer comin’ with me...patching me up. I know I’m not the kind of fella who asks fer help, but it meant a lot, havin’ ya there. I couldn’t have done it without ya.” The past few hours were the most vulnerable Andrew had ever seen Edward, and he couldn’t hide the fact that it had been affecting him. Now that they were out of immediate danger, it was harder to mask the growing affection he had for the man sitting in front of him. The part of himself that Andrew had spent years trying to bury, stuffing behind layer after layer of locks and cages and stuffing beneath mountains of responsibility and education and stifling expectations, was crawling its way to the surface. 

“No need to thank me, Eddie. Whether it was the prime directive or not, I’m here to help, and I’m rather fond of you.” Andrew replied congenially as if it hadn’t been a big deal to aid in the killing of a man outside of combat. It was, again, well deserved, but an image that he still couldn’t shake from the back of his mind. That sort of brutality was not seen up North, at least not in the light of day, as Northerners liked to claim an air of superiority, but behind closed doors were often no better than their Southern counterparts. 

“Ya ain’t as annoyin’ as other Yankees, that much is true,” Edward replied, biting back a grin. Andrew let out a hoarse laugh, shaking his head in disbelief as he wrapped a palm around the back of Edward’s head, tilting it backward, his other hand pressing thumb and forefinger against either side of Edward’s nose. 

“I suppose I should take that as a compliment. Try not to move, I don’t want to fuck up your nose.” 

“More than it already is, ya mean.” Andrew rolled his eyes at the self-deprecative comment, not deigning it worthy of a response. With a quick tug and the cracking of bones, Edward’s nose was reset and he could comfortably breathe once again. Andrew moved to toss Edward’s blood-stained and quite torn-up shirt but was stopped by slim fingers wrapping around his wrist. “Don’t. I need to wear it for the rest of Shiva.” 

Andrew’s brows furrowed in confusion for a moment before the last word registered.  _ Mourning period _ . Right. Seven days in a blood-soaked shirt. “Wear my jacket over the shirt. I don’t want your Mom seeing you covered in blood.” Normally when someone tried to order Edward around like that, he’d bite back, no matter how rational the direction was, but this was Andrew and for some reason, Edward didn’t mind the other man telling him what to do. There was only one thing that he really ingested from the direction, however. 

“Ya don’t have to stay, ya know. The worst is over. I’m goin’ to be at Ma’s house for seven days. It won’t be fun.” Edward was unsure why Andrew wanted to stick around. Andrew’s coat was an officer’s, he’d need it to go home. This implied that Andrew would stay the duration of Shiva. 

“I didn’t think it would be fun, Eddie. I’m not just going to leave you to face that alone.” Andrew stated simply, as though it was a perfectly normal thing to do.

“Why?” Edward questioned, eyes boring into Andrew’s. Andrew swallowed hard, unsure as how to approach this. At the very least, he had been present for Mackenzie and Edward’s conversation--he knew that Edward wasn’t straight, so he wouldn’t necessarily react with vehement disgust. However, that didn’t mean that just because they were the only two queers (that Andrew was aware of) in the area that they would end up together. It’s not as though Andrew had travelled cross-country for Edward. He’d just happened to catch feelings for the person that he was supposed to be convincing of something. Andrew was a fool indeed. Finally, he spoke. 

“Because...I like you, Eddie. I want to be there for you.” It was honest, at least, though the honesty brought a certain dryness to Edward’s throat. He didn’t have to be a mind reader to realize that the like that Andrew was insinuating was not platonic in nature; the idea that someone would be able to like him, even in the worst state he’d ever been in his life, distant, bloodthirsty, sobbing, had something entirely too human rising within him. Edward’s fingers slid up the length of Andrew’s arm before collecting the fabric of his collar and he stood, barely a breath of space between them. Andrew’s breaths came out in shuddering puffs as his gaze fell to Edward’s lips, scrubbed free of blood, incredibly tempting. 

“Got a letter from the General, Cap’n--Oh.  _ Oh _ . Excuse me, Sir, I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Leckie’s shit-eating grin told Andrew that he knew exactly what had been about to happen before he stepped into the room, and though he should have found it irritating, it was actually amusing. Edward couldn’t say he had the same reaction, dropping his hand from Andrew’s blouse with a little huff. “He wants us to return since we weren’t successful. Shuffle us into another regiment.” 

Andrew sighed, jamming his eyes shut. “Write him back, tell him we’ll be on the move in seven days. I’ve got something to attend to.” 

“Yes, Sir.” Leckie’s amusement was obvious as he left the doorway to the barn, and Andrew couldn’t help but laugh. 

Despite the fact that Edward was wearing Andrew’s jacket, Reba still noticed the bloodstains almost immediately, lips pursed as she wrapped her torn shawl tighter around herself. “Ya missed the funeral, Eddie. And the start of Shiva.” 

“I had to kill him, Ma. Ya know that.” Edward replied, tone even as though he wasn’t admitting fault to a grisly murder. While Reba had initially seemed put off by the blood staining her son’s shirt, the fact that it was there because he had killed the man who had killed her baby boy made it worthwhile. 

“I know, Eddie. Just make sure ya button up so tha kids don’t see.” Reba turned to the small basin beside the door to wash her hands, not looking up as she spoke. “Is your friend staying?” 

“If you’ll allow me to, Missus Jones, I don’t want to impose,” Andrew spoke before Edward had a chance to; he wanted to make a good impression on Edward’s mother, past the point of helping her bury her son. Reba looked at him as she dried her hands, a small, weary smile on her lips. 

“It ain’t no imposition, Mister--?” 

“Haldane. Please, call me Andy.” 

“Well, it ain’t no imposition, Andy. You’re perfectly welcome. Can’t thank ya enough for gettin’ Eddie home safe,  _ HaShem _ knows he tries his best to wind up dead.” It had been intended as a joke, but Andrew could hear the frayed edges of her voice and his chest tightened. The poor woman had already lost so much, it was the least that Andrew, an interloper, could do, to make sure that Edward came home safe and (mostly) intact.

Reba entered the home and after washing their hands as well, Andrew and Edward joined the rest of the Jones clan after removing their shoes. Where the table had been just hours before, the Jones children were now sat, it and the chairs were pushed to the side of the room and out of the way. Reba, as well as Clara and Hazel, had their heads wrapped in scarves, while little Harold wore a kippah, which both Edward and Andrew were offered upon entering. 

“Eddie?” Reba asked; it wasn’t a command, instead a request, as she held two kippahs in her hand. Edward selected the one that had been his father’s, sliding the crochet head covering onto the crown of his head. “Andy, would ya like to wear a kippah?” A question Andrew had faced a few times in his life, and he was happy to oblige, out of respect for the family and the beloved deceased. 

“Of course, Missus Jones.” It only took a bit of fiddling before it was settled on his scalp; the tiny smile on Reba’s face told Andrew that the effort was appreciated. “We brought some hard-boiled eggs from camp.” 

“Very sweet of tha boys, thank ya, Andy,” Reba replied, taking the knapsack of eggs and adding them to the various dishes in the center of the circle of seated family members, which Andrew and Edward joined; Andrew between Edward and Hazel, who cast the stranger a curious glance. “The neighbors brought some food as well. Bread, cooked beets ‘nd corn, a pot of tea. Missus Davis attempted to give us some stew that had her slaughtered sow in it and I had ta politely decline.” Reba chuckled to herself, as though the hiding of the true nature of her faith was something that amused her. 

“Why d’ya have a Captain’s jacket on, Eddie?” Harold asked his older brother, eyes bright as he spotted the stripes on the sleeves of the frock coat. 

“Andy lent it to me. Suppose this means tha right now I outrank him,” Edward arched a brow at Andrew, who could only scoff to hold back a laugh. Leckie had allowed him to borrow his sack coat so that he wouldn’t show up to Shiva in a light blue cotton shirt, which would be incredibly inappropriate. Like him laughing right now would be. 

“ _ Eddie _ ,” Reba admonished as she poured four glasses of whiskey in place of wine, tea for those that she decided were too young to partake. Edward hid his grin behind a glass, though Andrew had a much tougher time in doing so. Hazel, who had been staring directly at Andrew the entire time, finally smiled and dropped her gaze to her lap, pleased that perhaps this time, her brother would allow himself to accept the happiness that he deserved. 

“Promise you’ll write to me,” Andrew murmured, eyes shimmering in the darkness as Edward looked up at him, head resting atop his ribcage. Even though they were sharing the tiniest bed known to man, Edward found that he hadn’t ever slept so comfortably since they’d been forced to share a bed. Forced was a strong term. “I’m coming back, after the war ends, but I want to write to you.” 

Edward chuckled, low and gravelly, shifting in the bed so his chin rested atop Andrew’s skin instead of the side of his face. “O’course I will. It would just surprise me if, after all tha time, ya find ya do want to come back. I ain’t nothin’ special, Andy, and there’s a helluva big world out there.”

“Yes, but you’re not out in that big world. You’re here. You and your family that actually seem to care about one another. This is the only part of the world I want to be in.” Andrew replied, and his tone reflected only honesty and finality. Edward swallowed; Andrew was a hard person to disagree with, and he found that he’d rather accept the fantasy than face a reality without such a kind person in it. 

“You’re only supposed to start missin’ things after you’ve said goodbye to ‘em, right?” Was all he could say. 

“This isn’t goodbye, Eddie. I’m coming back.” The promise was sealed with a kiss and Edward found himself easily lost in it. 

  
  


JULY 1865 - SUTTON, WEST VIRGINIA 

Nearly two years and distance separated Edward and Andrew, though letters kept the blossoming romance alive. It was incredibly embarrassing just how eager Edward was to receive mail, like he was some lovesick Regency-era bride-to-be awaiting her beloved’s return. While Andrew was off beating the Confederates head-to-head, Edward and the rest of his moss-backing boys were busy chasing the traitors out of their Union state, the title of Homegrown Yankees be damned. It was practically a cakewalk since they’d found Mackenzie’s body and the burnt ashes of his family home, the body of his father inside. The civilians who remained loyal to the Confederacy were terrified that the same would happen to them, and Union troops had finally decided to take their part seriously and force the rest of the Confederates out of a state that was no longer theirs. After the evil was uprooted, as promised, Sutton began to rebuild, as did Edward, who started to build a house with the help of his mountain men companions, solely from an offhand comment made by Andrew in one of his letters. He wanted a home to return to and Edward was happy to satisfy that request, hopeful that he wouldn’t be abandoned as he so feared. 

Edward sat on the stoop of the house he’d labored over, basking in the sun as he took a break from putting together the finishing touches--namely, he’d been building a bookshelf since Andrew had admitted just how much he’d loved to read (and had offered to teach Edward, too). He hadn’t looked up at the sound of hoofbeats (sure that it was just a passerby), head tilted heavenward, but couldn’t deny the approaching footsteps were slightly off-putting. Lifting a hand to shield his eyes from the sun, Edward’s heart nearly stopped at the sight in front of him. 

“Andy…” Indeed, Andrew approached, peeling off layers of weapons, clothes, and metaphorical armor, long legs carrying him toward his home. Edward just managed to stand up and take a few steps forward before Andrew was upon him, pulling him into his arms. “Ya shoulda told me ya were comin’, I can’t believe you’re here.”

“I wanted to surprise you,” Andrew replied, face lit up damn near like it was the sun itself. Edward couldn’t help but beam in his presence, pleased to see that his worst fear had not come to fruition. “I missed you, Eddie,” Andrew murmured, taking Edward’s face in his palms, gaze so full of ardent adoration that Edward was tempted to look away, to shield himself from something so good. 

“I missed ya, too.” He was barely able to repeat in kind before Andrew’s lips had claimed his own. Edward hadn’t even noticed Leckie had ridden up with his Captain, at least not until the Private gagged and made his way past the embraced couple and into the home that was certainly not his own. 

“If only we could all be greeted with such romantic gestures,” Leckie had returned to West Virginia only to follow Hoosier home and wasn’t keen on seeing his commanding officer smooching his intended. It was cute and all but a little over dramatic, if you asked him. 

Even though most of K Company had gone home, the same could not be said for the Mossbackers, who stayed until they were certain that no Confederates would try and retaliate to the Union winning the war by taking over West Virginia in some ridiculous coup. So, it turned out that Edward and Andrew had one more journey before they could settle into their own piece of forever, not wanting the boys to have to find their way through the post-war country on their lonesome. After a quick pit stop to drop Leckie and Hoosier off in Indiana, the group (consisting of Andrew, Eddie, Shelton, Sledge, and Phillips, as Burgie was also making a home in West Virginia for his intended, Florence, to join him in) made their way to Jones County, Mississippi. 

Shelton requested that Edward take him to his sister’s last known whereabouts, deep in the bayou where Confederates and Slave Catchers were too fearful to enter, and since Sledge refused to abandon him, Phillips was coming along as well, and Edward supposed he should just be happy that the kids could find some semblance of a family outside of the racist ones they were born into. At a certain point, the cart was no longer a viable mode of transportation and had to be left outside the treeline, horses free to roam and graze as their owners searched for a child. 

It was almost an impossible task, and at a certain point, Edward was ready to suggest giving up and trying to search somewhere else when the barrel of a rifle was pointed in his face, steely eyes stared at him as though he were the enemy. “I think ya fellas might be lost,” The man said, leaving no room for argument. Edward argued anyway. 

“We’re looking for Jade Shelton, her big brother has come to join her. Merriell.” Edward did not avert his gaze, just stared the other man down, unwavering. After a long moment of studying one another, the man dropped his rifle and waved the group forward; deeper into the swamp, further from civilization. Minutes later and they were led into a camp with far more people than Edward expected. The man crouched beside a girl, who couldn’t be older than twelve, and spoke to her softly. She then turned, features lighting up when she spotted Merriell among the group, running to throw herself into her big brother’s arms. 

“Merl! Ya came back for me!” Jade exclaimed, burrowing her face into Shelton’s neck. Edward didn’t think he’d ever seen him smile before this moment, arms wrapped around his sister. 

“‘Course I did,  _ cher _ . Just had to figure some stuff out first. Now I’ve come to stay with ya, me ‘nd my friends.” Merriell pressed a kiss to Jade’s forehead, tightening his hold on her. 

“Y’all have Southern accents. Did ya fight fer tha traitors?” The man questioned the rest of them, apparently just as wary of Confederates as they themselves were. Made sense, since they’d hidden themselves out in no man’s land. 

“No, Sir. We were hidin’ out in the mountains, much the same as you. Chased ‘em out of West Virginia.” Edward answered, for some reason wanting to be on his good side. 

“And I fought for the Union. Captain in the 20th Massachusetts.” It was incredibly cute just how proud Andrew seemed of that fact, and Edward couldn’t help but smile. Their responses led to the other man lightening up, shoulders dropping out of their defensive position, an easy grin partially hidden behind his thick beard. 

“Good ta find others like-minded, some common sense that seems uncommon nowadays. ‘M names Newton Knight. Pleasure to meet you.” Newt held out his hand and the boys graciously shook it. “Welcome to the Free State of Jones. Our home is yers as long as ya need it.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *~disclaimer~* once again that my goy ass has a hard time understanding religious practices on occasion bc i was raised agnostic and have approx. half a brain cell in my head at any given point in time. (fun fact, i was just told by my dad the other day (he was raised catholic) that the Eucharist is literally eating the body and blood of Jesus and I still haven't recovered from the knowledge that this is straight-up cannabilism) so if there is anything inaccurate within this fic and you are okay correcting me, feel free to do so! inject critique straight into my veins, buddy. 
> 
> i was initially going to have eddie and andy leave west virginia and go be cowboys out west but...fuck it, eddie couldn't leave his mom after all that and andy deserves to know good family!!! 
> 
> i found out, whilst searching for where a minyan that could travel to the household (really shit out of luck i was there) could come from that there was actually a massive community of Jewish folk in Keystone, West Virginia in the 1890s. You can read about it here if that might interest you: https://www.bjpa.org/content/upload/bjpa/wein/Weiner-The%20Jews%20of%20Keystone.pdf
> 
> i really said: this fic is no longer just a love letter to mossbackers like Newton Knight, we include them in the fic and make it a direct thing and die like men. to everyone who stood up against confederates and protected their land from traitors like my ancestors and are somehow reading this in a ghostly form: mad fucking respect, dude. mad respect.


End file.
